


The Memory of Our Melody

by InkuEko



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Bullying, Courtship, Ernesto the Boy Who Wanted People To Remember Him, F/M, Friendship, Heartbreak, Héctor the Orphan With Big Dreams and a Bigger Heart, I Struggle With Tags But At Least I Tried, Imelda the Girl Who Knew What She Wanted, Learning Music Together, Many Obstacles On Their Way, Mention of Child Abuse, Mexican Revolution, Pre-Canon, Romance/Fluff, The Beginning of Their Love Story, backstories, meeting as kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkuEko/pseuds/InkuEko
Summary: Héctor and Imelda’s story began way back in September 1910. They were just kids. She was the new girl from a rich family, and he was the orphan who dreamt of music and grandeur. Nothing foresaw their meeting, except maybe Héctor’s tendency to get into trouble. Becoming unlikely friends, they grew up together without them realizing that, at the same time, their hearts grew closer~
Relationships: Héctor Rivera/Imelda Rivera
Comments: 22
Kudos: 18





	1. La Llorona

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One detail that will diverge from canon is that in my story Ernesto is born in 1898 instead of 1896, making him only two years older than Héctor~

“Ernesto… I think I’ll die,” whispered Héctor.

“You can do it,” said his best friend with a sympathetic look. As an encouragement, he added: “Think about our dream…”

Sure, their dream, but nine years old was a bit young to die, even for a dream. Well, it was still worth a shot. Besides, nothing bad could happen to him, having his best pal with him in this adventure.

_Six hours earlier…_

Young Héctor wondered if time could go backwards. In school, this impossibility seemed plausible, because the day was _endless_. His eyes were glued on the clock overhanging the classroom’s wall, not missing a second passing by. He hadn’t seen the unimaginable happen (yet) but he was convinced that the clock was mocking him. Lessons couldn’t be so long without some curse operating behind the scenes.

Maybe with his own will, he could undo the spell. His stare grew more intense by the minute. It earned him a few snorts from his neighbors, but he didn’t even hear them. In the zone, his concentration was unshakeable. The sisters wished he paid the same amount of attention to their lessons as he did to his reverie. To bring him back to reality he had earned a few slaps behind the head. It was better than when he disrupted the class, goofing around with his friends. Then, it was the ruler, a truly terrifying prospect, especially for a musician. For someone who was a guitarist like Héctor, fingers were sacred. A hit from the ruler and he could kiss his guitar goodbye for at least two days. Out of faithfulness for his one true love, music, he now mostly stayed out of trouble. Keeping a low profile in class grew into a habit, even though being a studious student wasn’t in his nature.

His mind wandered elsewhere, somewhere filled with music. Free to play music or to play with his friends was always his happy place. Even though he knew he was lucky to be in school, he, a mere orphan, Héctor couldn’t help but longing for another type of teaching, one that would be less…monotonous. 

Sitting all day long, listening to the teacher wasn’t his forte. The nun’s voice was tone-flat from start to end. The only rhythm in this closed room was the beat he made with his fingers against the old wooden desk. It earned him a meaningful glare from Sister Esperanza, but he couldn’t help it. When the boy wasn’t playing or at least humming, he felt like he was wasting his time. He did try to stay focused on the lesson, but he couldn’t help daydreaming. Sister Esperanza opened the mouth to scold Héctor. He knew it, everybody knew it, but then the sound of the school’s bell startled everyone, but surprise was quickly replaced by delight. School was finally over for the week!

Escaping the classroom before being caught by the Sister, Héctor was among the first kids to enjoy the warmth of the afternoon to come. Since it was Friday, there were no chores to be done in the convent. The students always looked forward to that day. Boys and girls were running gleefully towards the playground, planning on what games they would choose.

Héctor knew exactly what he was going to do. Like always. He was going to play his guitar. Well, technically, it was Padre Corona’s guitar, but the priest had a soft spot for the boy and lent it to him so often that Héctor could almost believe he had his own instrument.

He hadn’t crossed half the playground when he got tackled as Ernesto swung his arm against his neck, almost making him lose his balance.

“Oyé, where are you going so fast?” he said, happy to have found his younger friend.

Ernesto wasn’t in the same class as Héctor. The former had 11 years old and the latter only nine. Age gap was never a bother when it came to football. That’s how they got to know each other but their friendship had blossomed when they first sang songs during recess. Héctor had been singing to comfort a crying kid whom had scrap their knee and Ernesto had join the song. They had had so much fun, entertaining the other kids, that they continued performing songs. The joyous duo had since then become inseparable.

However, being two years older, Ernesto was finishing the _primaría_. Soon, he would have to work full-time like his siblings to help his mother. His father was always away, working in the mines, and his salary wasn’t enough to feed nine kids. The children had to contribute to earn the family’s living. In the meanwhile, Ernesto tried to enjoy what little time of freedom he had.

“As if you didn’t know,” laughed Héctor. “I’m fetching the guitar.”

“ _Eso_! Let’s play until our finger fall off.”

“Well, if Sister catches me, it won’t be because of the guitar, I think she wants to slice them off,” said Héctor, mimicking an axe chopping his fingers off.

“ _Ay, pues vamonos!_ ” said Ernesto as they start to run. “Last to get to the church is a slug!”

The two friends raced at full speed across the streets of Santa Cecilia, skillfully avoiding bumping against people. Completely out of breath, Héctor arrived at the church only seconds before Ernesto, claiming the victory.

“Yeaah, I win! Running away from trouble _do_ pay off.”

“Pff, you just got lucky, that’s all,” said Ernesto, trying to control his breath to look more composed.

“No need to be a sore loser, Señor de la Slug.”

Ernesto made a funny face in reply. They got around the church and walked up to the priest’s house.

Héctor knocked energetically until an old woman with a dirty apron opened the door. With a broom in hand she would have look dangerous according to Héctor’s standards if the face hadn’t been softened by a smile with more tenderness than teeth. She was the priest’s housekeeper and knew quite well the young orphan that often came by. The boy was always kind and polite although a bit too elated sometimes. It was youth’s charm. The household couldn’t be anything but happy to see the child.

“Hola, Señora Belez. Is Padre Corona home? I’d like to borrow his guitar.”

“I’m sorry, _chamaco_. He isn’t home. He went to help the others welcoming the Flores fami-,” said the old woman.

“But can we still borrow his guitar?” interrupted Ernesto.

The housekeeper frowned. She wasn’t fond of the boy’s friend despite his good looks with his fair complexion, his neat hair and the dimple on his chin that could have made him charming, but he needed to learn some manners. He was always eager to be somewhere else even though he was asking for a favor. She’d overlook his bluntness since she didn’t want to spoil the boys’ afternoon.

“Yes, yes. I’ll go get it. Don’t forget to bring it back in one piece, okay, boys?” she sighed.

“For sure! Thank you, Señora Belez. You’re the best!” beamed Héctor.

She didn’t invite them inside as she was cleaning, but she went inside to fetch the guitar. She brought back a traditional Mexican guitar with battered strings that could snap at any moment. Every time she handed it over to the boy, she tried to contain her laughter. The instrument looked so big in the nine years-old boy’s arms. It wasn’t the only thing that looked oversized on him. His thin and lanky frame made his big ears and his large nose look more prominent. Along his goofy grin, those features gave him a sympathetic aura that made people want to take care of him.

They ran as soon as they had their beloved treasure in their arms, running so fast that they barely heard Señora Belez reiterate to be careful. Their feet naturally brought them to the plaza, the best place in the whole village. There were always mariachis and therefore music. They tried to sit not too far from a group that rehearsed in order to learn something new. Ernesto would get one of his barely used notebooks and write as quickly as possible the lyrics he would hear while Héctor would try to reproduce the notes and memorize them. That was their setting for half an hour and then they’d switch so that each had time to practice. It was easier when the musicians would repeat over and over a set of songs which was the case when they had special event to prepare for, like this month. The local mariachis were all prepping for the concert they would give for Día de los Muertos. It was still several weeks away, but since it was a talent show they wanted to hone their sweet, sweet skills before then.

Lucky guys…The boys couldn’t participate yet as the age limit was 12 years old for some dumb reason. They were better than any of those musicians.

Héctor and Ernesto would be ready by then, that was for sure. Ernesto’s chance was only one year away, but they wanted to perform together; therefore, they had to wait for Héctor’s twelfth birthday. Only three years to go and the stage would be theirs.

Two hours passed in a flash. While the two boys were entranced in their little musical world, they didn’t notice at first that a group of older boys was strolling across the plaza, looking around, bored. If there was something that guaranteed trouble, it was bored older boys. Usually they were too busy working in the fields or worse in the mines, so when they had a bit of free time, they’d search for some poor fool to torment for their own amusement.

I hope they don’t come this way, thought Ernesto absent-mindedly. Before finishing that silent wish, he made eye contact with the tallest boy, inadvertently catching his attention.

Ernesto cursed under his breath. They would have had one hour more if he hadn’t had the dumb luck to look up when they were passing by. Now they’d have to deal with this. This being a group of annoying boys who thought the world owned them entertainment. If only he hadn’t notice them, the insufferable trio might not have chosen them. Ernesto clenched his fists against his thighs to hide his frustration. 

Héctor hadn’t notice anything yet, trying a series of chords to find the right note. Before Ernesto could tell his friend, the leader of the trio, Celestino, and his two friends had already reached them.

“Hey, if it isn’t _Orejón_ _y el guapo_! Still pretending to be stars?” asked the 14 years old boy.

 _Orejón_ was the nickname Héctor went by among the citizens of Santa Cecilia, because of his big ears. Evn though the bullies meant it in a mean-spirited way, most meant it affectionately, but until recently, Héctor pouted whenever someone used that nickname. Now, he just shrugged it off behind a knowingly smile.

Trying to get past the provocation, Ernesto tried to reply in a neutral tone. “We’re practising songs.” He hid his notebook so they wouldn’t snatch it. However, the leader wasn’t paying him anymore attention.

Accustomed to the hubbub surrounding them, Héctor still hadn’t notice them. The lack of acknowledgement triggered Celestino, but some mischief crossing his mind brought a malicious smirk on the bully’s face. He grabbed the guitar’s from Héctor’s hands.

“Nice guitar there, _Orejón_! Where did you steal it from?”

“At the same place where you couldn’t steal some awesomeness,” said Héctor without looking up.

The rascal hadn’t expected the boy to say such a thing. Usually, he always answered as carefully as possible, showing proper respect. It was fun to push his seemingly unreachable limits. They could nag him, and he wouldn’t fight back in fear of retaliation. His precious hands had more worth than his ego or pride, apparently. Even though Ernesto was more prone to waver before the provocation, they never got into a fight, because Héctor would apologize his way out, like the spineless kid he was supposed to be. That repartee was a slap Celestino had not see coming.

Gildardo couldn’t help but snort. A quick glare from his friend made him regain his seriousness. The fourteen years old boy wouldn’t let a kid humiliate him like that, especially in front of his friends. He got closer to Héctor towering him, as he was still sitting.

“What you say?” he snarled.

The aggressive tone burst Héctor’s bubble. He was so focused on the chords that he answered without thinking. His wit had just taken the lead and let the truth of his feelings be exposed. Normally, since he was not being fond of confrontation and, most importantly, he had no energy to spare a worthless fight, he would choose a more sensible answer.

His eyes grew wide when the realization hit him. He glanced at Ernesto and, seeing his flabbergasted look, Héctor knew that he messed up. Big time. He held his hands in front of him in a pitiful attempt the shitstorm that was coming his way.

“I-I didn’t mean that,” said Héctor. “I didn’t think! At all. I was being stupid, you know me!” His gibberish didn’t seem to soothe Celestino’s anger. He tried his typical strategy. “I was being cheeky aaand… I apologize for doing that.”

The apology didn’t seem enough. Celestino caught Héctor’s shirt by the other, still having the guitar in one hand. Colliding with the bench behind him, Héctor lost his balance and was only held by the angry boy’s grip.

“You think you’re so clever but all you can do is play one stupid song over and over again.”

“Well, it takes practice,” replied Héctor, trying to ease the tension.

It had the opposite effect. The bully saw his nonchalance as a provocation, as if playing some dumb guitar made that _Orejón_ somewhat special. Celestino would prove him wrong.

“Anyone can do it. It’s so easy,” sneered Celestino, letting go of Héctor. He repositioned the guitar and, as he struck the strings with one too decisive swing, one snapped with a discordant noise. Héctor and Ernesto cringed. Realizing what the sound meant, they both grew horrified. Celestino shoved it back into Héctor’s arms, ill-mood.

“What did you do that for, you moron?!” yelled Ernesto, jumping on his feet.

“What do you care? It’ll teach you a lesson that stealing is no good,” intervened Javier, the third guy, pushing Ernesto back.

“We didn’t steal it. We borrowed it,” snapped Ernesto.

“To you two? As if!” said Gildardo.

The voices were progressively rising, catching people attention and earning them some disapproving glances. Apparently, the tension building up was putting to the test their boyish ego.

“You better pay back the string you broke!” ordered Ernesto.

“Or what?” challenged Celestino, cracking the joints of his fists.

It was going downhill. Héctor got up, raised his hands in the air once more, trying to calm the tension. He got in the middle of the demi circle that was slowly closing on them. The bullies and Ernesto had already their fists up ready for when the first punch would be thrown.

“W-wait, wait, wait, wait…,” asked Héctor. Once they had their attention, he started by saying. “I’m sorry it’s my fault.”

Ernesto looked away, annoyed. His friend was going to grovel and apologize. He _always_ did that. It was painful to watch. Why couldn’t he be cooler and accept head-on some brawls? If he kept apologizing every time someone wronged him, Héctor was doomed to get walked on by everyone. It drove Ernesto crazy. They’d never be considered worth of being respected musicians if Héctor didn’t have more guts, to put it mildly.

“Damn right,” approved one of the older boys.

“But don’t think it is enough to get you off the hook,” warned Celestino, still cross.

Héctor, with his goofy grin, did something none of the boys hadn’t seen coming. At all.

“To make up for my rudeness, why don’t we make a bet to call it quits?” 

Ernesto looked as his best friend as if he were the craziest person on the planet. This idea was even worse than apologizing. The trio of bums was infamous for being terrible with everyone and made the meanest pranks ever. One time, they tied up a girl to a tree with her braids, laughed and acted as if they were leaving her there all alone forever. Which they kind of did, because they forgot her. Someone who had taken a stroll near the riverside heard her sobs and found her mostly okay although scared and a bit dehydrated.

Ernesto couldn’t believe Héctor offered them to mistreat them with one of their schemes. How troublesome… Why couldn’t he be like everybody else and get into a quick fistfight and get it over with? _No_ , Héctor had to come up with some weird plan to get out of any confrontation without getting beaten. Well, he could kind of understand since his friend had his fair share of correction and ass-whooping at the convent and at school, but still.

“What do you have in mind?” asked Javier, somewhat intrigued by the bold suggestion of the boy.

“You get to choose since I was the disrespectful one, but I decide the price. Deal? It’d be five pesos to repair the string because no one wants to upset Padre Corona by breaking his guitar, am I right?” aske Héctor, stretching out his hand.

Ernesto’s jaw almost dropped. His friend had to be kidding. Using the “Padre Corona” card was kind of clever because everyone had high respect for the priest and, indeed, no one wanted to cross him, but even then, how naïve could Héctor possibly be? The trio would be ruthless with them.

Not taking back what he said, Celestino assumed Héctor was serious, shook his hand, smug, agreeing to the terms and conditions. He turned his back on the two boys and form a caucus to decide what they would challenge the two musicians to do. Ernesto was praying that it would be nothing that would hurt his face or be humiliating like walking naked in the plaza. Héctor only hoped his hands would be unscathed.

The trio quickly reached a decision as they turned around with a satisfied smirk, loving the scheme they had came up with. Ernesto added some saints’ names in his prayers.

“So?” asked Héctor, in a hurry to get this over with.

“Meet us up at 23:30 at the abandoned hacienda outside the village.”

The late hour was what surprised them first. Then, they realized where they were supposed to meet. Just to make a change in the evening, it was worse than what Ernesto expected.

“Where _la Llorona_ lives?” he gulped.

“Precisely,” smirked Celestino.

The legends still haunted the village. People swore that they saw a weeping woman in white through the windows. Someone even said they saw her wandering toward the gates, as if she wanted to walk to the village but her demonic aura was imprisoned inside the delimitation of the fences. To this day, she was looking for her children and any kid who dared to go near the big hacienda would be taken by her. It made shivers run down many people’s spines.

The rascals decided on a challenge that would be so terrifying that the boys would never do in order to not pay the reparation for the string.

“With the curfew, it would be better earlier, you know…,” risked Ernesto, trying to lessen the risk of encountering the wraith.

“Ah well, too bad then…” shrugged Celestino, clearly enjoying having the upper hand. “If it’s not 23:30, then you forfeit.”

“So long, losers,” waved Gildardo, leaving with his gang.

“W-wait, wait, wait, wait! Hum, so you guys would be coming with us?”

“Just to see that you didn’t chicken out. But we’re not going past the enclosure. Unlike you,” Gil said, cocky. “Well. If you want your five pesos...”

“Okay, so it’s only going past the walls. That’ it?”

“Ay, as if only that,” laughed Celestino.

“Then what do you want more?” groaned Ernesto, losing what little patience he had.

Celestino gave him a condescending glare, judging his question pathetic.

“Well, since you’re such _sissies_ , why don’t you pick some flowers?” nagged the pre-teen. “Flowers from the Llorona’s garden.”

“It’s not like they’re cuuursed or anything,” sneered Javier, having fun scaring younger boys.

Héctor’s eyes widened.

“That’s thievery!” cried Héctor, aghast.

“She’s dead!” laughed Gil. “Why she’d care?”

“Your resolve isn’t really strong, if some legends stop you from pursuing your dumb music dream.”

“We’ll be the best musicians of all México, you’ll see!” Ernesto asserted.

“Then, prove it,” said Celestino, getting closer to Ernesto to tower him. “Seize your moment.”

Héctor took the guitar in one hand and interposed himself between the boys.

“We will. We will meet you there.”

Celestino stared at him, wondering if he should knock the boy to teach him to show some respect when the bell’s church ringing six o’clock interrupted his train of thought. The bully was late for supper and he would get his ass whooped if he didn’t hurry up.

“23:30. Don’t forget.”

Héctor nodded in agreement. Celestino pointed his two fingers towards his eyes and then towards Héctor, letting him know he was watching him closely. The trio then ran off out of the plaza. Héctor let out a discouraged sigh that was interrupted when Ernesto punched his arm.

“When will trouble stop following you?!” his best friend scolded him. “It’s unbelievable. Every day!”

“Trouble is one of my fans,” joked Héctor.

Ernesto snorted. He caught his friend by the neck and tousled his messy hair.

“Let’s hope the _Llorona_ becomes your fan, too, _idiota_!”

“The living and the dead can’t resist the sound of music~”

They walked out, continuing to joke around to repel the dreadful anticipation of the evening’s challenge. Supper would do a world of good.

* * *

The bell rang eleven times into the night. It was time to go. Héctor climbed out of the window of the bedroom he shared with the other orphans in the convent. As usual, they slept like rocks, so it hadn’t been an ordeal to not wake anyone. The sisters slept farther, and they had already done the roll call. They wouldn’t check another time.

In the street, he stayed close to the houses’ walls, only taking the narrow alleys to not attract attention if there was still anyone in the streets. Gossip travelled fast in a small village like Santa Cecilia, however his caution wasn’t so much that. The adults seemed worried about something for a several months now. Something big that worried but excited them. They always whispered among themselves. All he could hear were names of men he didn’t know and something about a big change called a revolution, whatever that meant. He even saw earlier that month a gang of men, riding horses with giant guns. Héctor wouldn’t want to get in their way, that was for sure.

Soon enough he had reached the outskirts of Santa Cecilia. It had taken a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the surrounding darkness. On the west side of the road laid an imposing hacienda enclosed by tall stucco-plastered terra cotta walls. Despite the distance, Héctor could still see the glass shards pegged on top of the walls, a defense meant to discourage any trespasser. That obstacle didn’t particularly impress the boy. After all, he had put himself in riskier situations in the past and handled it just fine. A creative strike of genius always ended up saving him from impossible situations.

Besides he couldn’t afford to hesitate on that one. Héctor really needed to bring back the guitar without a scratch. Padre Corona was already so nice to him; he couldn’t afford to disrespect his kindness. He had to show his gratitude by taking good care of what was lent. He messed up, now he had to fix it. Whatever it took. So, there was no other choice than to win that bet. Anyway, Héctor always managed to be lucky in his bad luck.

Four shadows stood next to a big tree that overshadowed a part of the wall. A faint light glowed at their feet. Héctor figured that Ernesto planned what they’d need to succeed in their trial. Lucky he was friend with such a resourceful guy as Ernesto. He waved as he reached them. All he got were sneers from the trio of bully and an annoyed look from his friend.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

“I wouldn’t want to disappoint you guys,” said Héctor. “Where would be the fun if I didn’t take on the challenge?”

“True,” nodded Celestino, mildly satisfied that they’d have a run for their cash.

“Alright. Well, since you’re there, we’ll be on our way.”

“What?” Ernesto and Héctor said in unison. “Why?” added the latter.

Gildardo shrugged in a condescend manner and said: “We’re not gonna wait around for a ghost to show up and take you. We know you’ve come at least. Bring the proof tomorrow for your five pesos.”

“Well, if you actually do it,” added Javier.

“Just for your scared faces, it was worth it,” laughed Celestino before walking away.

Their faces had grown paler, no doubt. Héctor was initially confident because he thought they’d have the advantage of number. Now they were just two against…a grownup’s evil spirit. The odds were not so much in their favor anymore. Héctor had to chase those scary thoughts away if he didn’t want to chicken out. They only had to get in and out before the ghost could even notice their presence. The boy had faith in their speed.

Fast enough, they were the only two left next to the abandoned _hacienda_. He heard Ernesto fidgeted behind him. Héctor knew he had reassured his friend. After all, they were stuck in that situation because of his big mouth.

“Don’t worry, Nesto. We’ll get those white flowers and get out of here in no time.”

He preferred not to re-imply the part about them being cursed. It was better to ignore the bad juju.

“You know what? You go, and I stay behind,” said his friend. Before Héctor could argue, he added. “I stay behind in case you need help to get out. You wouldn’t want us both stuck on the other side and not having any back-up plan, do you?”

Héctor re-opened his mouth to object but then closed it. “Fiiiiine…I’ll go,” he sighed.

Héctor, looking up to the tree, gulped back his fear. He hadn’t gathered the wall would be _so_ high. Maybe he did have a bit too much confidence in himself, after all…

“Ernesto… I think I’ll die,” whispered Héctor.

His best friend with a sympathetic look replied: “You can do it. Think about our dream.”

The boy still faced the façade, trying to gather his courage. Ernesto found the one thing to say to set him straight back on track.

“You can’t die yet, Héctor. We haven’t become the greatest musicians of México yet.”

With this rock-solid argument, Héctor felt his fears faltered and fade away. It was true. Nothing bad could happen to him. He looked up. The tree was tall enough to pass above the walled grounds, branches stretching towards the abandoned property. In addition, it was close enough to the wall that the boy could turn it into his advantage during his climb if the trunk lacked gripping spots. It wasn’t the climb that scared him much but rather the unknown beyond the enclosure. He never did see a ghost, he tried to reassure himself, but yet again, he never saw a lion and it _did_ exist and it _was_ dangerous. Héctor looked back to Ernesto, who gave him a small nod in encouragement.

“Don’t be a chicken,” whispered Héctor to himself. “Do it for music.”

He only had to go up, go over, pick a flower and come back. Easy peasy. Right? He rubbed his hands to warm them up to the challenge ahead and began to climb. Once he got up to the toughest branch, he signaled to Ernesto who threw a rock to which he tied the rope he had fix the lantern to. Ernesto had figured out what they would be asked to do. If Héctor was more creative with his plans, Ernesto was more pragmatic. One of the many reasons why they complemented each other so well.

When the rope swung around the branch, Héctor pulled it to raise the light. It wasn’t bright enough to catch anyone’s attention if they were as far as in the village. He carefully moved it to get passed the wall without it being snagged by the glass shards. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to get there, except to win a few pesos for a guitar, but he wasn’t one to judge. With this small success, he would have light on the other side. It would also help him get down. He checked if it was tied tight enough and with both hands slide along the rope, getting a footing with the wall. He was so concentrated that he forgot the fear gnawing on his stomach and wasn’t unaware of anything except his own movements and his heavy breathing.

That’s why he didn’t notice that lights were lit up in the hacienda, nor the swish sound of a fountain nor the white silhouette in the garden a bit further. When he was close enough from the ground, he landed as swiftly as possible, not to alert any ghost. Just as a precaution, he loosened up the tie to take the lantern. Turning back towards the property, he finally noticed the lights. Before he could process that fact, a furious voice rose into the night.

“IMELDA? Where are you, for god’s sake? Imelda!! Come back here at once!”

His heart nearly imploding, he quickly hid himself in bushes. Maybe he had misheard the legends but Héctor was pretty sure the Llorona wept for her children and didn’t shout for them. The ghost’s angry voice had startled him, and he couldn’t get hold of the situation. Hidden in the bushes he couldn’t figure out precisely where the voice had come from. He stayed there, his heart beating so fast that it threatened to burst out of his chest. He placed his hands before his nose and mouth so his breath would not betray him. Why did he have to suggest a bet to those guys? He had been too greedy, thinking he could outsmart them and earn money for his dream. Now he had to come up with a plan to not get killed by an evil spirit. Maybe Sister Esperanza was right; he really was a trouble-magnet…

No, no time to dwell on his mistakes. He had to succeed. Héctor always managed to get out of trouble and there was no reason why he wouldn’t this time! If trouble had taught him anything is that he could outrun it. Snapping out of his mind, he realized he hid himself in a Choisya bush, one distinctive for its sweet parfum and its white flowers. They’d do perfectly as proof. The boy picked a few, shoved some in his pocket in case some fell from his hands when he’d climb back up and knot one against one of his shirt’s buttons since it was pretty and smelled nice. By then, he had already completely forgotten the part about them being cursed. He had a soft spot for beauty and those flowers were beautiful.

He dared to look towards the hacienda and saw nothing but its façade, the garden, some benches and a fountain. It was luxurious for a haunted house. How could an abandoned house be richer than many in Santa Cecilia? That even ghosts had more money than the convent had was a very strange concept for him. But he had no time to overthink this injustice. He had to flee. Now.

Héctor turned around and dashed into a white silhouette who yelped in surprise more than in pain. The boy fell back on his butt and his eyes grew wider before the apparition.

Standing before him was a girl in white and she looked quite displeased with Héctor’s presence.


	2. El Ladrón

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say that I would update on the 15th of December? ...That was a lie and I apologize for doing that ^.^'  
> I reworked so much on this second chapter, because I was never satisfied with it. I finally settled for version #4.5! Hope you like that chunky chapter (hopefully they'll get shorter...XD)~  
> (I'll leave a glossary at the end of the chapter if you ever come across Spanish words you don't know :))

Rarely had a young girl been in such a foul mood because of a train trip. There were many reasons why Imelda Flores Rivera was in such a predication.

Firstly, despite being a child from a wealthy and distinguished family, Imelda unexpectedly hated technology with all her being. She should have been accustomed to trains by now, but because of their monstrous appearance and the loud sounds they make she simply couldn’t trust their safety. Although she could appreciate the wonders of progress in many fields, she simply couldn’t get around it when it came to modes of transportation. Indeed, the journey was faster, but at what price? In those gigantic beasts of metal, people could more often die than arriving early at their destination. Those machines hurt often those who manipulate them, amputating limbs when accidents occurred.

Humanity had been well off with its old ways for centuries, travelling by carriages. Some people said that technology made transportation safer, cancelling the gamble of robbery or accident. However, criminality adapted and rose up the challenge and came up with ingenious ways to bypass it. Now, thieves gained far more in robbing a train than a carriage. Horrific tales of whole wagons being ransacked had fueled the rumors of many high society’s evenings. People had been more and more worried about the current situation in México, taking more precaution such as leaving the big cities, centers to “politic polemics” or whatever that meant. This brought the second and main reason of Imelda’s irritation.

Secondly, the Flores family was moving from México City which was hitting harder on the young girl than anticipated. She should be used to move from place to place since her father had frequently travel for his work. _Señor_ Flores y Rojas was a _hacendado_ , one of the handful of men, part of the Mexican elite, that held vast swaths of the land by virtue of their immense estates. The family had lived in many big cities and lately in the capital. Her father had boasted that men called “investors”, foreigners that came from the US and from Europe had talk to him and that they were interested in doing business with him. He had said that “he was planning to turn his interest into other business such as the growing industries taking root on Mexican soil”.

Imelda had asked one of her tutors what he meant by that and the man had haughtily responded that it was no matter a young girl should ask about. This ridiculous excuse was too often used against her to avoid explaining anything to her and it drove her mad. When her parents were home, all she could do was bite her tongue to swallow her pride. No well-behaved lady should answer back, but God, that she wished sometimes. The only thing Imelda could do to avenge her bruised ego was to get that incompetent tutor fired. If he couldn’t teach, he should change job to a work better suited to whatever skill he had.

Imelda tried to see the positive in the abrupt moving. _Sure_ , she had been excluded from the decision making _again_ and she only learned about the news a couple of weeks ago, but it sparked hope. Foreigners meeting her father made her fear that he would have to travel farther and more often. Now that the family was settling into a _hacienda_ in a remoted village, it seemed rather unlikely, seeing how much time the trip was taking.

She had the impossible hope that maybe, just maybe, he was settling down, having bought enough properties and gathered enough wealth to simply be with his family. But, realistically, seeing how much he loved his work, which made him the man he was today, _Señor_ Flores y Rojas would continue to seek new opportunities. However, she was wondering what he could possibly gain from being in a _pueblito como Santa Cecilia_? Could her young age prevent her from seeing the bigger picture?

“Imelda,” said her stepmother, conveying all her disapproval into her name. “Let go of your gown. Your fidgeting is ripping the nice garment.”

The girl snapped out of her thoughts and looked at the purple ribbon that was now barely attached to her dress. Her annoyance had made yet again another victim of one of her ribbons. She obeyed but couldn’t help but to twiddle with the strap of her purse.

It was now well advanced in the trip’s second afternoon and the girl had more difficulty to control her restlessness. While her stepmother, the two governesses, each having a twin in their arms, and herself had made smoothly the last train connexion two hours ago, a flock of men her father hired to carry their luggage had rushed to get everything on the train before its departure. The compartment being first-class was large and comfortable to make the long trip somewhat enjoyable, but the grinding of the wheelwork punctuated by the occasional train whistle made Imelda wish even more to be anywhere else but there and tested what little patience she still had.

“Are we there yet?” asked the young girl, struggling to not sound moody.

“Watch your tone,” warned her mother, not without a brief but meaningful glare. “We’ll get there when we get there.”

Sitting next to the window but having no interest in the landscape passing, the stern woman was focused solely on her embroidery. Imelda couldn’t understand how she could concentrate on such meticulous work with the stiffness of her outfit. 

The thick cloth that made the dress seemed heavy, but the tasteful design and the natural grace of its owner made this downside look like it was a criterion of high society’s fashion. The dress was complemented with a delicately braided silver necklace inlayed with small emeralds, a gift from New York that she wore like her pride. On top of her impeccably styled hair rested a broad brimmed hat decorated with red ribbons and pearl-coloured artificial flowers. Even though her hat had an American influence, her long dress had typical Mexican style. Aware of her own beauty, she never deprived herself of the chance to wear pretty clothes, even if they seemed uncomfortable.

Each of her gestures were calculated to be poised. Being the new _Señora_ Flores y Rojas, María Fernanda Murguía took her new role seriously and with devotion, mainly directed towards her husband rather than towards the children she gave him. She hadn’t glance even once towards the baby twins playing on the floor of their train compartment. Even though, she still seemed to prefer them to the eldest, the daughter of the first marriage.

The interactions between the two of them were kept to the minimum. Imelda could sense that the woman was not fond of her and it didn’t bother her in the slightest. Not sensing any hostility, rather an indifference tainted with a slight discontent from the woman towards her, Imelda saw no other reason than that their personalities were mismatched, and being used in not being liked, the girl saw no achievement in bettering their relationship. Her stepmother followed her father so often that she rarely had chances to be alone with her. Besides, the sentiment was shared as Imelda didn’t like the woman. Her new mother didn’t have any maternal instinct even toward her own children which baffled Imelda as she would have liked that her brothers had the chance of having a loving mother, a chance she didn’t have. All she could do for this woman was being polite and civil, an effort she was willing to do for her family. After all, her stepmother made her family grow with the birth of Óscar and Felipe.

Each in the arms of a governess, they played gleefully with a wooden soldier. Being two years old, the twins were unaware of the change or rather unbothered by the moving. As long as they were entertained, it didn’t matter if they were sent into the countryside. Gesticulating, demanding to be put on the ground, the governesses complied and put them on the softly padded floor. They concentrated their attention on one of the soldier toys, testing the rotation of its joints. Oscar held the toy while Felipe pulled on one arm, making it popped. The two babies started giggling in delight until one of the governesses took the now dangerous toy. Oscar and Felipe whined briefly, displeased, before realizing they had a second toy they could dismantle to their amusement. She couldn’t help the fond smile they inspired her to replace the pout that had been unshakable since the start of the trip.

The sight didn’t soften _Señora_ Flores y Roja in the slightest. It rather seemed to have given her a headache. With a frown, she got up and asked to be excused as she needed a refreshment. Imelda rolled her eyes. Her stepmother wouldn’t come back or, at least, not until they arrive to the terminus, which she hoped was soon. Maybe, she could distract herself by joining her brothers’ silly games. She was usually forbidding herself to seem or act childish in front of adults, but she didn’t mind so much in front of the governesses. As she leaned forward to tousle Felipe’s hair, a foul smell caught her attention. The two governesses seemed to detect the smell’s origin too.

“He needs a new diaper,” said Yalitza, a small-statured indigenous woman with soft eyes. Even though her mother tongue was _náhuatl,_ her Spanish was on a functional level. Imelda sometimes helped her by teaching her new words every now and then. Being the nanny of two little devils, Yalitza had rarely time to improve her second language, but seemed to appreciate Imelda’s concern.

“Both of them,” interjected Joséphina, the second nanny, a middle-aged woman who always seemed bothered by every little detail. “Again, at the same time.” Her demeanor was in such a constant state of exasperation that it imprinted on her face through premature wrinkles. Sure, Óscar and Felipe with their eccentric behavior were a handful to babysit, but not so much as to perceive her own life as a perpetual series of hardships. The twins didn’t seem to take her seriously when she yelled to exert some sort of authority over them. But turning so red that she’d look like a tomato, it only made them laugh, flared further her anger. However, the twins seemed to comply when the instruction came from Imelda, which infuriated the older nanny.

The two women took the toddlers in their arms. With a grimace, Joséphina exited first. Yalitza picked up the bag that contained the necessities to this perilous task of diaper changing the twins. Imelda was then left alone, making the compartment look even bigger that it already was. It was always ended up like that. Her, alone standing in a world of adults. She could understand that they were busy, that her father had to work, that she was still too young to take part to any of their events yet, but why did everything seem so big and her so small? She hated to feel like that. She threw herself into her education, by reading, playing the piano, drawing, sewing. Still, nothing could take her mind off her dear wish, the wish that her family could simply be together. She could picture her perfect day. In the morning, they could take a stroll in a botanical _jardín_ until noon and then they’d have a picnic somewhere where the view would be breathtaking. They’d play music together and sing and dance late in the evenings, laughing together. Usually this dream would cheer her up, but this time it only underlined their absence even more. She tried to fight off that gnawing feeling clawing her chest, by looking the landscape more closely.

From the train, Imelda could see the _Sierra Gorda_ getting closer, this mountain range standing tall and proud confiding this semiarid landscape of the rest of México. A rugged region without a horizon. That was the feeling it gave off to the young girl. Imelda would have to get used to this deserted view because it would become her new home’s. The sun had already begun its descent. At this rate, they would arrive at dusk, well past supper. _Will Father wait for us?_ thought Imelda. She dared to hope. 

While looking at the landscape, she felt asleep against the window, only waking up when the train loudly braked, and the bell rang to announce its arrival. For a second, Imelda felt disoriented as her family was getting up to exit. They had finally reached the last stop of the railway, which was the last city before reaching the village further east. Santa Cecilia didn’t even have a proper train station, as the trains relayed mostly cities for the moment. The country had planned to build even more railways in the future but for now it was still a work in progress even though they had linked the important cities together. The Flores family would have to take yet another mean of transportation to arrive to the middle of nowhere.

As she got off the train, she saw people running toward one and another, rejoicing to reunite. She saw a man, his face blackened by coal, surely a miner, catch his son and spin him in the air. She smiled tenderly to this reunion. Her heart grew warm with affection and yearning. She couldn’t help but look in the crowd on the narrow platform, looking for a tall and elegant gentleman with a thin mustache. Her father was, of course, nowhere to be seen. There was still several hours to the trip. He wouldn’t have come to welcome them as it would eat up too much of his precious time. He was probably at the _hacienda_ , seeing that the supper would be served when they’d arrive late in the night.

Her stepmother leading the group walked confidently toward a couple of carriage. The chauffeur held the door open until the whole family and the governesses had climb into the first carriage. The rattling wheels played a slow beat against the cobblestone road that send her to sleep anew. She woke up when the night had well established his dark and opaque colours on the landscape.

Soon enough, a faint glow went through the door’s curtains, meaning they were driving through a village, hopefully Santa Cecilia. Everyone was quiet in the cart, even the twins were sleeping as even their undying energy couldn’t withstand the lethargy of the voyage. In their sleep, they were snoring in unison as they did everything else. A quarter of an hour later, the chauffer called halt and the carriage stopped. 

When she got down, there was light around her as torches had been lit. She could admire the vast _terracotta hacienda_ , imposing respect with its ivory-coloured columns and its beautiful garden. Tall walls encompassing the property didn’t even give off a sense of confinement. There was a lot of space and there were even a fountain and benches, giving it the aura of a botanical garden. Imelda couldn’t help but to be quite pleased with its design. It was a perk their city house lacked. The twins would have a lot of fun here. Even herself, she wouldn’t deny that strolling among those gorgeous flowers would be lovely.

However, what made her even more happy was the man standing in front of the hacienda. As soon as the horses had stopped moving, she opened the door and threw herself into his arms.

“Father!”

Hugging him tightly, she didn’t see the fatigue that weighted on his features. His dark circles showed that worries had accumulated in his mind, though not enough to affect his neat appearance. He patted his daughter’s head, relieved to see that everything went well.

“ _Mija_ ,” he sighed, relieved to see that everything went well. Her greeting had been too informal, but he would overlook it this time as she must be exhausted by the long trip. “How was the trip?”

“Long,” confessed Imelda. Seeing her father frowned, she rectified with the courteous way, her entourage so often encouraged her to adopt. “I mean, fine. How have you been?”

Her stepmother approached them, and he offered his arm. The family then walked toward the house. 

“Busy,” he answered. “I also just got here. I had associates to meet in the other village and now, I’m meeting the mayor of Santa Cecilia. I present you Rufino, our new butler, Estebán was getting too old for the job, so I had to replace him. José will make you visit the hacienda. The rooms are on the second floor. They are already tidied up.”

Imelda had stopped on her track, letting her parents walk further inside and her stepmother nodding, quite pleased by the sumptuous mansion they would live in. The interior columns from the inner courtyard made the house even more imposing, oppressing her with its grandeur, as what her father had just said and, more importantly, what he meant by that sank into her mind. She tried to sound detached.

“But, aren’t you eating with us first? It’s already late.”

Even though the adults were used to eat late, taking their habit from the Spanish who eat supper at 10 p.m, it was already past 11 if the clock was set correctly.

Without looking back, her father said, “No, I have to go. Your mother will keep you company while I’m gone. I’ll eat with the men. We have much to discuss and I have little time here.”

Her heart grew heavy, so heavy that she feared that it would fall and crush her stomach.

“You…are…leaving?” she said, hating that her voice was trembling.

Her father finally turned back. With a dispirit demeanor, he said, “Don’t give me that look, _mijíta_.” He walked to her and put a kneel on the ground to be on eye-level with her. Putting a gentle yet firm hand on her shoulder, as to require her full attention, he continued with a more paternal tone, “You know very well I must travel often. Business obliges.”

She held his gaze, wishing all her might that he would reconsider. He couldn’t possibly leave so soon. They have just arrived. They hadn’t had a full hour all together for weeks, now. Their reunion had been her only motivation throughout the trip. Seeing his unshakable resolve, she saw no other choice than to plead her case, disregarding her pride.

“But, Father…”

“Do not question your father’s decisions,” intervened sharply her stepmother, standing behind her husband but giving the sense that she was towering the girl. “Don’t act like you’re being left alone. Joséphina and Yalitza are here for you and the twins.”

Imelda bit her lips to hold back the retort that was burning her tongue. The girl couldn’t allow herself to be impolite in front of her father. Dignity and refinement were backbone of the upper class, had always said her father. Losing her composure would only bring shame to him and herself. She was better than that. Aplomb served a better purpose than honesty in this situation. So, it was not by disappointing him that he would stay.

Although her stepmother’s attempts as an authoritative figure irked her, _Señora_ Murguía de Flores had every right to impose her input in her education, as she was lawfully her mother. Trying her best to remain civil, her glare betrayed her real thoughts. Imelda hadn’t accepted the moving only to be dump into the middle of nowhere, like some hindrance. Why was he leaving? Why did she and the twins have to stay behind? She might still be only a girl, but she knew how to behave in society. The twins were far more resilient than some people could imagine, so they would be able to adapt easily. The biggest obstacle could only be her temper. She could tame the fire within that too often threatened to explode if he just let her some time to improve. 

Her father sensing tensions rising, he gently squeezed her shoulder. The anger building inside her cooled when Imelda saw his exhausted face more closely.

“Imelda…be comprehensive,” he asked. He sighed once more. “I know it’s different from the city, but I’m sure you’ll like the countryside too. It’s much calmer, but there will still be evenings and balls, do not worry.”

As much as she’d miss the city life, it wasn’t the countryside that bothered her or the lack of receptions. She didn’t mind them being less frequent, even if she liked dances and even if it was the only time that she could show him off the progress of her education and accomplishment as a young lady. What she did mind was the fact that she felt powerless and sad and hated feeling such undignified emotions. She was a Flores and, even if her eyes were slightly burning, she would not cry. Not in front of him. Ever.

Imelda held her head high when she asked, “How long will you be gone?”

Reassured by her level-headed attitude, he got up.

“I still don’t know,” he admitted. He pinched her cheek. “But can I count on you to take care of your brothers?”

Even without asking, the responsibility always fell back on her shoulders. Sure, they had nannies, but their work also extended to cleaning and shopping, so more often then not, Imelda would take care of the upbringing of her little brothers. Never would she complain about it, as she felt it was her duty as an older sister.

“Yes, of course,” the young girl said. She nodded, imperturbable, shortening an elegant bow, an aristocratic custom from Europe her father was fond of. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll retire to my room.”

“You are excused. It’s well past everyone’s bedtime. Rest well. I’ll kiss you goodbye tomorrow before leaving,” he promised.

Imelda tried to measure her steps, not appearing to run. She was _not_ running away. All strength left her already exhausted body. She had not tried to stop him like the good daughter she was meant to be. Yet why did her chest feel like there was a hole in it?

“She ought to learn not to be so difficult. She will never find a husband otherwise,” warned her stepmother. She never opposed her husband’s decisions, therefore rarely had conflict arise. Surely that’s why she landed such a favorable marriage despite having only her beauty and her docile character to vouch for her. Or so Imelda presumed.

It was a good thing that her stepmother underestimated to that extent the intensity of the fire that burned within. Being such a hushed woman, she wouldn’t be able to handle it. Lucky for her, Imelda had several years of practice and had grown being used to keep her emotions in check. Or at least, in front of people. Sometimes, it was difficult to conceal, but she tried her best for her family.

The anger would remain hidden far away inside her heart. No one had to know about it. Everything would be fine. All she needed to be was redouble her efforts and prove them that she was mature enough to not be left behind.

But then, what about Óscar and Felipe if she accompanied their parents…? Would she really leave, deserting them? How could she consider doing that to them, she reprimanded herself while pushing the door that had one of her paintings hanging, presumably her new room. All her pieces of furniture were already installed except for the large, wooden bed that was new. Beautiful white knitted lace curtains covered the windows at the far end of the room. Imelda pulled the wrought iron doors that opened upon a large balcony. Beyond laid Santa Cecilia, dim by the growing obscurity of dusk. Having a direct view, she could see a few lamps still burning, confounding the village to the starry sky. The firmament’s beauty took her breath away.

She was so mesmerized by the night canvas that she didn’t see two silhouettes passing by the property’s door. _Señor_ Flores y Rojas and his butler were walking towards Santa Cecilia. Just as Imelda pondered on what she should do since she wasn’t sleepy at all despite being mentally drained, a movement caught her eye. There was a moving light coming towards the hacienda. 

Thinking she had imagined it, she stood there just to be sure. Maybe someone, a friend of her dad, was coming over as he must have made them wait, going to the meeting so late in the night. The tinder reappeared this time on top of a tree overshadowing a part of the wall. Then, as she was thinking that something wasn’t right, a white rope or something similar dropped.

Her heart raced. A thief! There was a thief in the garden! Yalitza had told her tales about those ruthless men that attacked and pillaged people, armed with sharps swords and pistols. Their faces were distorted by their wickedness, the governess told her, and they were as ugly as demons. Yalitza heard that Joséphina’s cousin had fallen victim of such unfortunate encounter and lost the use of his hand that had been shot. The woman shivered, wondering how the world had become a place so dangerous. From books, Imelda figured that there was no period where safety was assured for everyone. Pirates and bandits had always existed. Imelda never had to worry about it before as she grew up in a sheltered environment. Her father knew powerful people such as the President Diaz which also made him influential.

Nevertheless, her predication was not favorable now. Without her father, the hacienda was significantly more vulnerable. Rufino, the butler, had gone out with him, which was worse. The governesses would be frightened, and her stepmother didn’t have the nerves nor the fortitude to face such situation. However, she wouldn’t let herself be impressed by adversity. No Flores would be robbed under their nose. Not under her watch!

She grabbed her white shawl and left her room. She skulked around the open hallway, overly aware of her surroundings. The servants wouldn’t let her outside at this time. She had to remain unseen. The angry voices rose from the inner courtyard. As she came down the stairs, she could see Joséphina running after Felipe. Despite his short legs, he could dart as fast as a hawk. The two little devils, having slept in the carriage and replenished their energy, drove their nannies to despair. It looked like they improvised a game of hide-and-seek, one of their games of choice. On the tip of her toes, she hurried behind the columns of the inner courtyard. Thanks to them, Imelda hoped that she could sneak unnoticed. As she finished thinking or, rather hoping that, Joséphina barked, “ _Oyé, jovencita_! What are you doing up so late? Go back to your room!”

“Ay, careful, Óscar!” yelled Imelda, pretending to be afraid for his safety. It was a cheap shot that made Joséphina look away while Imelda raced for the door, through which she exited without so much as a sound. In the distance, she still heard Joséphina and Yalitza calling out the twins and earning as sole response the twins’ giggles. Normally, Imelda wouldn’t give them a hard time as her brothers were sometimes unruly, but her disobedience was for their own good. Now, she hoped they’ll think she was somewhere in the house, like the kitchen. It was plausible since she “went to bed” without so much as eating a tortilla. Hopefully, it would buy her enough time to deal with the thief.

She tried to be discreet, bending as she walked. The white rope was still hanging but there were no movement near it. Obscurity worked with them, hiding them from her sight. Suddenly, the realization of what she was doing hit her. How was she supposed to face thieves? What if they indeed had swords or worse guns? Fear dug its claws onto her stomach. She clenched her fists, sensing her body tensing in a flight response. Imelda huffed, irritated by her raw emotions that commended her to go back inside and ask for help from a man. Pride sneered at her moment of vulnerability. She took a deep breath, attempting to regain some confidence.

Nothing could stop a Flores. They were strong. Always. They were unwavering in the face of adversity and showed their true colours by keeping the dignity of their ancestors through courage and nobility. Meaning, letting the thieves get to the house would be a dishonour to their name. Or so she convinced herself.

How could bandits be terrifying anyway? Besides, swords were from a bygone age. It wasn’t as if they were pirates or anything of the sort. They weren’t trying to have honest work; they were scoundrel that needed to learn a lesson. Imelda had some experience in disciplining, having little brothers. Since their birth, she developed quite a few tricks about handling troublemakers. She’d discipline them the old-fashioned way like their mothers should have done. Her blow was one to be reckoned, not that she used it on the twins that were so young, but rather against mean boys that pulled her hair that then left her alone after one of her shoe whacks.

Imelda was even more self-assured as she was wearing her leather low-heels boots which would do an even better job than _chanclas_ or a belt. She untied her boots, now only lamenting her high sock that would be dirtied. Grabbing the boot in a way that made the heel being the spearhead of her improvised weapon, she felt ready for the confrontation.

Somewhere in front of her, she heard, but barely a voice. She couldn’t make out the words but now she knew that her suspicions were correct. The intruder was still in the garden. Taking a step forward, the yells of Joséphina broke the silence of the night.

“IMELDA? Where are you, for god’s sake? Imelda!! Come back here at once!”

The girl almost fell when hiding behind a tree. Back against the trunk, she didn’t dare to look if the nanny was coming her way. A loud rustle came from the bushes on her right. Joséphina had scared away the thief. This development could have been a good thing if it hadn’t met that Imelda was in trouble. The woman slammed the door, probably to check once more the hacienda, not affording to leave Yalitza alone with the two years old twins, leaving Imelda alone in the garden. Or with the thief if he hadn’t run off already. She had to check. The lightning coming from the house helped her distinguishing shapes and objects, enough at least to investigate.

Next to a bush squatted a small form. Imelda tilted her head in surprise. Had she mistaken an animal for an intruder? No thief could be this small unless… As she was pondering, the shape quickly got up and bolted in her direction. Taken aback, she didn’t have time to dodge and got knock over, letting out a yelp of surprise.

In front of her sat a frightened boy. His eyes had widened so much that they could almost match in size his big ears. Turning pale, he crawled a step back.

“L-La…la Llo…la Llor…” the boy stuttered, bewildered.

He had also fallen on the ground, but, unlike her, his whole body was clearly on the get go to run away for his dear life. The fact that he was more scared than her gave Imelda confidence. She could handle it by herself, no problem. Alerting the governess was still out of the question. Even if she had disobeyed her orders, the young girl didn’t want to give her the excuse to scold her. She would not be talked down to. She hated it almost as much as being pitied. Standing straighter to look even taller than the fallen boy, Imelda tried to sound in control and commending. Having her boot in hand helped.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Not letting him the time to talk, she urged him sticking the boot near his face. “You better explain yourself soon, _ladrón_ , or you’ll regret it.”

Looking at him some more, the young girl found him to be rather out of place. He didn’t match at all the description of a thief. They were supposed to be tall and muscular with vile eyes and a lot of scars. On the contrary, this boy was small, far too thin with too big ears for his head, which made it impossible for him to be scary. Besides, the flowers tucked in one of his pockets gave a touch of innocence to the intruder. Still, those flowers proved his guilt since they were taken from their garden.

Imelda was ready to refute his denial but was surprised with another approach.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. Noticing her eyes locked on the flowers in his pocket, he quickly added, “Oh, the flowers. I took them. Aaand I apologize for doing that. Could you reverse the curse on them? It’s just that I really need them for a bet.”

Even though he was speaking Spanish, Imelda couldn’t comprehend a thing. He didn’t even deny his wrongdoings but even tried to justify them with some nonsensical excuse. Was he mocking her?

“Cursed? A bet?” she asked, miffed. “What kind of gibberish is that?

The boy looked now as confused as her.

“Hum, well I supposed flowers that belongs to ghosts are cursed. Or so it is said…?”

Imelda wouldn’t fall for it, as she wasn’t so credulous. He was surely expecting her to take the bait and scoff at her “gullibility so typical of girls”. She hated that kind of petty behaviors some boys used against her to elevate themselves by belittling others. Usually, it was to compensate for their own stupidity. Credulity was due to young age, but she tried to avoid such intellectual shortcuts as to believe anything people said. Mockery and pity were emotions she forbad people to direct against her. Sure, she was young and had still a lot to learn from life, but she was old enough to know that ghosts don’t exist.

The boy was still on the ground and no arrogant smirk came to show he tried to mock her. He couldn’t be serious about it. Could he? Imelda examined him and his features showed only honesty. He believed what he was saying.

“There are no such things as ghosts,” she informed him, sterned.

The boy crawled away a bit more. He didn’t seem to believe any of her words. She couldn’t understand his misbelief, knowing she only said common sense. She wouldn’t let him run away before reflecting on his acts and his blatant and childish lies.

When she took a step forward, he stiffed.

“Aren’t you…la Llorona?” he asked as if it was the most normal question in the world.

Her bad mood flared up. People of the countryside were even more of a lost cause than she anticipated. The day weighted on her and this absurdity of an encounter was getting tiring.

“Are you stupid? I’m 10, how could I be a mother to dead children if I’m a kid too?”

Incredulous before his absurd reasoning, Imelda couldn’t help but think that someone needed to slap some sense into that boy. How could her father think that she could grow into a fine lady in this type of environment? Clearly, people in the countryside were in their right minds.

“I don’t know…? By mistake?” he said, not knowing what he would imply.

She gasped, as the underlying message slapped her across the face. Never had she felt so aggrieved. Nonetheless by some random boy who knew nothing of her and dared disrespect her honor, implying she would do such a thing as… as…that before marriage. Having by accident seen a suggestive illustration in one of her father’s book she read despite the interdiction, she knew the secrets behind matrimony. The thought made her face burn up. How could he imply such a thing?!

“H-how-how dare you! I’ll make you pay for that insult!”

The young boy blinked rapidly, as if he wasn’t unaware of how much he messed up. However, he could feel the girl’s burning anger and as an act of self-preservation raised his arms to shield himself.

“What? What insult? I didn’t…”

Seeing the boot rise above her head, he chose to retreat, crawling away faster as she advanced spitting each word.

“Don’t play dense with me! You’re already at your second offense.”

“Second? What did I do?” the boy asked, frowning in disbelief.

“Trespassing.”

“What?” the boy exclaimed. He got up, clearly ready to deny what he seemed to consider an unfair accusation. “I didn’t!”

“This is not your house. You were not invited. Therefore, you are trespassing,” Imelda scolded him like he was one of her little brothers.

“Nobody lives here. Sooo, it’s not trespassing.”

Before she could get things straight with this overly clueless boy, a grim reminder of her delicate situation broke the night’s silence.

“IMELDA!!” yelled once more Joséphina whose patience seemed to have been exceeded by a lot.

Imelda crouched quickly to not be seen and yanked the boy in the same motion. She still had to keep in mind that being found outside at this hour would earn her an insufferable reprimand, but with a stranger, she would never hear the end of it. She rested her finger on her lips, demanding him to remain silent. He nodded frenetically and placed both his hands on his mouth as if this extra precaution would prevent his mouth to run by itself. Imelda let out a short sigh. If she hadn’t been annoyed by the whole situation, she could have found his reaction amusing. This clown was definitely not a threat to the household.

Feeling cold through her high socks, she put back her boots, being careful to not fall and soil her dress. Now having a better balance, she straightened herself a bit to be able to see past the bushes behind which they were hidden. Joséphina was standing in front of the front door, her hands on her hips. Her determined posture suggested she would search herself the gardens for the girl, but a cry from inside stopped her on her tracks. The twins were making a scene inside. They were probably refusing to go to sleep. Brushing her hair off her forehead, discouraged, she turned towards the house. Before entering, she yelled:

“If you’re not back inside in 5 minutes, you’re sleeping outside with the coyotes and thieves!!” the nanny huffed before entering back inside.

Although Imelda believed those stories about thieves to be true to a certain extent, she didn’t fear them as much as Joséphina hoped, since the tiny thief in front of her wasn’t scary in the slightest. The girl started to wonder how much they exaggerated those tales. At least, they were not all ruthless brutes. Apparently, some were rather naïve. 

“What did you say about “nobody lives here”?” asked Imelda, self-righteously.

“It’s been vacant for years… Or so we thought?” said the young thief, confused. His face lit up, a realization striking him. “Do you only appear during the night?”

Imelda rolled her eyes.

“No, idiota. We’ve just moved in.”

The boy didn’t seem convinced with that explanation. He crossed his arms and walked closer as if he didn’t care about the threat of her boot anymore.

“That’s not a good point,” he said, shaking his head. “For all I know, ghosts and skeletons could move in and out of houses. It doesn’t prove anything.”

By the end of his ridiculous counterargument, the distance between them could be close by one step. Not knowing how she felt about such boldness, she did what seemed the most logical thing. She smacked him behind the head with the palm of her hand.

“Ow! How come you hit so hard when you’re not even a teacher?” said the boy, rubbing his head.

“I’m a big sister, that’s why. And you need to be taught a lesson. Now you know not to enter uninvited into people’s house.”

“Technically, I didn’t enter into the house,” he pointed out. He shrugged and cracked a smile. “Just the garden.”

Imelda glared at him. He was playing with fire. Patience was not one of her virtues and if he continued, he would learn it fast.

“This applies for gardens, too. Speaking of which, those flowers are ours,” she said. “Give it back, otherwise, that would be thievery.”

She extended a hand. Visibly expecting him to hand them back, she began to stamp her feet to show her growing impatience.

The flowers hung withered from his pocket. He reached for them, but only to be assured that they wouldn’t fall.

“Aaah, yes, thievery,” he said, awkward, as if he remembered something important that he had inadvertently forgotten. “Well, we could also say that nature is to everyone…Right?”

“No. You’re stealing them from our garden. If you don’t give them back, I’ll call for help and you’ll have big problems.”

“Then, why did we hide when your mother came outside?” he asked, visibly puzzled. His index resting on his chin, he looked up to the stars, as if they would help him untangle his thoughts. He tensed and turned back to her. “Wait, are you in trouble too?”

“Yes, obviously! And it’s all your fault!”

“Huh? My fault? Hooow?” the boy exclaimed, his demeanor oscillating between outrage and utter confusion, cancelling out the credibility of his indignation.

“I came out here, because I saw a thief and wanted to protect my family. Now, I’ll get grounded because they think I’m rebelling because my father is leaving again…” She halted herself. Why did she blurred all that, being so awfully honest to this kid she just met? “Anyway, it’s none of your business. Just leave the flowers you stole and go.”

“That’s it!”

His blurt startled Imelda. Certainly, she must have been looking at him as if he were insane, because he quickly explained what he meant.

“I won’t steal the flowers,” he said. “I’ll buy them.”

This boy was weird, decided Imelda. Why was he so focused on the flowers? It didn’t seem boyish, but she shouldn’t be one to judge. How often was she denied things because they were for boys? Imelda could at least hear him out.

“And how would you pay exactly? Excuse my honesty, but you’d have better use of your money by buying newer clothes.” She allowed herself a bit of bluntness, as he could clearly use that piece of advice.

“I can get you out of trouble in exchange for the flowers,” he beamed, proud of his solution.

Imelda frowned, discontented. She didn’t know what she expected, but certainly not this absurdity. Sighing in disbelief, she decided that she’d simply return home since he was no threat. She’d figure a way inside without having to confront the nannies. She walked towards the house.

“Wait, wait, wait!” he said, running after her and stretching his arms in front of her in an attempt of stopping her. “I can help you. You can help me. We can help each other! No? We’re both trying to get out of trouble.”

The girl rolled her eyes and walked around him.

“Alright, I see you don’t believe me. Still, you won’t be punished because of my stunt. I promise!”

“Not only a thief, but also a liar. Your parents must be proud of you.”

Imelda hadn’t got out of the garden when a raucous howl made a flock of birds fly away in fear. Terrified, she turned around, thinking she’d come face to face with a coyote only to see that insane boy howling on top of his lungs. Commotion erupted inside, casting shadows through the windows. Imelda hid herself quickly on the other wall, cursing the boy. Was he out of his mind to cause such uproar?! Why didn’t he flee discreetly like she told him? Did he want to be punished so badly? He made no sense and he would get them both caught.

“Is a coyote,” panicked Yalitza.

“Both of you, go to the babies’ room and stay lock there,” instructed a tenor voice. “I’ll go check. If it’s a coyote, I’ll make minced meat of it, don’t worry.”

A buff man with a not-so-white apron exited the house with a butcher knife in one hand and a lantern in the other. The young girl poked her head prudently from her hiding place. It surprised her that they had a male cook, usually it was an elderly woman that took care of their meal. The chef seemed overly strong for his qualifications. The boy better ran fast, or he would really take a severe beating.

Another howl was heard but came from the other side. The cook seemed to notice the movement of what was now his prey. The man moved swiftly despite his built. Soon enough the door was half open and without surveillance. It was her moment.

And then it hit her. The boy had created this diversion to give her a chance to slip inside. But what about him? His way-out was in the opposite direction. Imelda stopped herself on the doorstep. Maybe she could explain to the man, it was all a misunderstanding. But then how would she explain his unauthorized presence here? It would bring more problems than it would solve. She hurried to her room, tormented by what would happen to him. Entering her room, she threw herself against the balcony’s door. Dangling from his rope, the boy climbed abnormally fast, almost as if someone was pulling him up. The cook didn’t seem to see it since he was looking around haphazardly.

Imelda let out a sigh of relief. That crazy boy made it out. He achieved his impossible feat of getting them both out of trouble. She broke into a smile that was half-astonishment, half-amusement. 

Maybe, Santa Cecilia wouldn’t be so boring, after all…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially gave myself deadlines to post bimonthly (and failed miserably), but I'm not giving up on that goal. I'll try my best to update more frequently even if my cursed perfectionnalism is getting in the way. I just hope to live up to my OTP :'D  
> Hope you enjoyed the new chapter and, again, don't hesitate to comment and critic~  
> Until the next update, take care  
> [I don't own Coco]
> 
> Glossary:  
> Ladrón: thief  
> Hacendado :landowner  
> Hacienda: estate/farm/country house  
> Pueblito (pueblo) : small village (village)  
> Nahuatl : language spoken by indigenous, historically known as Aztec  
> Mija : My daughter (endearment)  
> Jovencita : Young lady/Young girl  
> Chanclas : slippers


	3. Not you again...

Héctor didn’t know if his eyes were burning because of the fatigue or because of the amount of dust lingering in the air. He already dusted the benches and altar, polished the plates and cups the priest used for mass and yet he was nowhere close to be done with his chores. Or, rather, his punishment.

Sister Esperanza had caught him when he sneaked back into his bed, thanks to her nocturnal need to pee. Apparently, her heart almost gave in, thinking there was a break-in, but seeing it was only Héctor, she turned her terror into anger, and gave him a hushed but spectacular chastisement before dragging him by the ear back to the boys’ dorm, which made him wonder if all this dragging by the ear might be the reason, he had such big ears.

By next morning, the whole convent, which meant all seven nuns and the twenty orphans taken under their wings were aware of his “escapade”. The sisters agreed that his penance would be one-month long and involving various duties. Even if it was a bit excessive for being out late, it was still better than confronting the wrath of Sister Esperanza who still hold a grudge against him. Two weeks passed since the incident, but she still glared him when he walked by her in the convent or at school. Plenty of cleaning had been done, the lesson was learned. Héctor would have to be more careful not to be caught next time.

So, there he was, cleaning before the roosters even started to crow. There was still the whole floor to sweep and mop. Looking around the church, it looked strangely bigger than usual. Maybe it was because he didn’t have any methodic way of cleaning, but nonetheless his work seemed to make no progress. On the floor, there were faint marks of mud. Frowning, Héctor could have sworn that he cleaned that spot minutes ago. Their oval shape made him realized that what soiled his cleaned floor was his own shoes. He hadn’t realized at first among the dusty floor. The boy chuckled, amused, but mostly discouraged by his absent-mindedness.

The church bell rang, reminding him that time was flying and that the service was to be held soon. The service was his deadline and Sister Esperanza had been very clear on that point. She would not tolerate a half-assed job and it would bring her great satisfaction to extent his punishment. He would have to kiss goodbye the free time they were allowed after the service. That free time was the only moment he could unconcernedly play music.

Sighing, the boy crouched to sweep a pile of dirt into the dustpan. His exhalation blew on his work, provoking a small burst of dust. It came itching his nose, but trying to hold his sneeze, it came out stronger.

“Bless you,” said a deep voice behind him.

Rubbing his nose, Héctor looked up towards the alter. He beamed.

“Hola, Padre,” the boy greeted, enthusiastic.

Padre Corona, Santa Cecilia’s priest, had arrived early to add final touches to his service. Over his usual black robe, the priest was already wearing his white liturgical vestments, beautifully interweaved with golden and pearl-coloured threads.

“Hola, Héctor,” said the man, smiling behind his thick moustache. Even though he was of small stature, he had an imposing appearance. His arms and legs were as solid as tree trunks and he had a poorly healed scar in the form of a crescent moon, tracing an arc from his eyebrow to his cheekbone around his left eye. He could have been scary to kids like Héctor if it weren’t for the spark of kindness in his dark eyes and his crow’s feet wrinkles, result of his easy laugh. However, his mannerism foreshowed a thoughtful and calm personality.

He always strived to help, always offering aid to the villagers with anything, be it physical labour or emotional support. Héctor knew it was thanks to his altruism that he had been taken care. Throughout the years, Padre Corona had transformed the convent so it could take in orphans. He often assisted the nuns in the upbringing of their pupils.

However, it wasn’t the reason why Héctor liked him so much. He was the one that introduce him to music and its wonders, teaching him the basics. The man had a vast knowledge in music and shared it with the eager boy. The boy would often pretend that Padre Corona was his father. He would imagine a whole story to explain why they couldn’t reveal they were family. His favorite version was that the Padre had to keep the truth of Héctor being his biological son a secret for their own safety from an unknown threat. While his imagination never quite got the final piece to complete the illusion, it didn’t matter much. He liked the illusion of having a secret father. That made-up story still made him forget the absence of parents he never got to know. 

“I’m almost done!” exclaimed Héctor, raising his hands to show off his work. Then, he looked around. He made a contrite face. “Well, in one hour.”

Padre Corona laughed. “Don’t worry, son. Here. Let me help you.”

Héctor shook his head, resuming his cleaning. “It’s okay. I should be doing this anyway as an apology, since I broke your guitar.”

The Padre jumped of the altar and went to the boy. He patted gently his head and said, “It was merely a string. Don’t dwell on this.”

“Still. You trusted me and I wasn’t careful enough,” Héctor said, unconsciously clenching his fists onto the broom handle, out of frustration.

Celestino and his friends had refused to give the five pesos they had promised from losing their bet, saying the withered flowers could have been picked from any garden. The goons were there to witness Ernesto and him coming to the abandoned hacienda. Héctor should have known all their efforts would be for nothing. Stupid him, thinking he could make them comply by offering to resolve the issue over a dumb bet. No money and grounded. That was just his luck.

“Don’t dwell on it,” he repeated. “Accidents happen. It’s part of life.”

The boy nodded reluctantly, knowing there was nothing that could be changed anyway. He broke his promise. The guitar was damaged and now he wouldn’t dare to borrow it in fear of breaking again what wasn’t his. Continuing to sweep, he saw something shining on the floor, hiding in a bench’s shadow.

“Oh, someone must have dropped this,” said Héctor, picking something up. He held a 50¢ between his thumb and index. He held it to the priest. “Here.”

Padre Corona raised his eyebrow, bewildered by the gesture.

“It’s not mine,” explained Héctor. “So, here, take it.”

“You can keep it,” Padre Corona smiled. “I don’t think anyone will claim it as theirs.”

The boy ran to the end of the aisle. Next to the stone pond filled with holy water was fixed on the wall a charity box, in which money for the poor was collected. Héctor slid the coin in the slot, its drop jangled against the other donations.

“Why didn’t you keep it?” asked the priest loud enough for his voice to echo against the church’s walls. He walked up to the boy. “You could have bought yourself a treat in the market this afternoon.”

“I could have, but it is better to give luck money to the poor. They need it more than me.”

The boy punctuated his explanation with a shrug, underlying how nonchalantly he viewed his good deed. Padre Corona seemed touched by his action. Héctor simply found it was the least he could do. The boy felt he was quite lucky. Sure, he didn’t have much personal belongings, but he had a roof over his head, friends to play with, Ernesto, a brother he could trust with his life, people who cared about him and food on his plate (although he often got late for meals, because he forgot about time when playing guitar). Some people didn’t have what he had and, therefore, those people needed the coin more than himself.

“Do you know this adage, Héctor? The one that says, ‘What goes around comes around’?”

The boy shook his head.

“Usually, we say it when someone does something bad. It warns them that eventually something bad will come their way. But it can also be the contrary. Good deeds bring good things, too.”

Héctor tilted his head, unsure of where Padre Corona was going with this.

“For example,” continued Padre, patting his head. “When an orphan gives up a penny for the poor instead of spending it for himself, life could send a gift his way.”

When the word “gift” was mentioned, Héctor’s face lightened up.

“For real? Like Santa Claus does?”

Padre Corona laughed softly. “Not quite. Sometimes, it’s a change of heart.”

Héctor still didn’t understand where Padre was going with this “adage” thing.

The man pointed the guitar, leaning against the altar. “It’s yours, now.”

Héctor’s eyes travelled a couple of times between the priest and the guitar. Doubt was still engraved in his big brown eyes. The priest walked up to the altar and took the guitar. Héctor remained immobile, even when Padre Corona held out the instrument. The kid’s jaw dropped even lower before he found a plausible explanation for this unbelievable situation.

“Y-you mean, it’s mine to fix?”

“No, it’s yours to play. I’m giving it to you,” he insisted. Seeing the boy was still too shocked to react, he added, “I have no use for this guitar. Take it. Let’s not waste its potential away by leaving it with an old man like me.”

By now, Héctor’s eyebrows must have reached his hairline, but seeing that the priest was not pulling a prank on him, he trusted what he had heard. Still, he couldn’t express what felt his heart. All he knew was that he felt overwhelmed. An itchy warmth grew more intense in his eyes. He felt a first tear formed, but he blinked it away. An overwhelming feeling of happiness washed over him. Never had an orphan been so lucky, never had the boy thought that he’d be blessed with such a precious gift.

“I-I d-don’t know what to say,” the boy said as he took the guitar, looking at it with sparks in his eyes.

The string had already been replaced. It still had its old-battered look, but the instrument was still quite functional.

“Thank you would be a great start,” smiled the priest.

Startled for not having given his thanks earlier, the boy did so eagerly, “Gracias, Padre Corona! You’re the best! It’s the most beautiful gift anyone have given me.” He hugged the guitar with the gentleness of someone who found an invaluable treasure. “I’ll cherish it more than my life,” the boy added, though it was already quite clear that he felt that way.

The Padre ruffled mischievously the boy’s already messy hair. 

“Don’t let mean boys take it away from you, this time.”

“I won’t!” Héctor promised. “Again, I’m sorry!”

He pulled the shoulder strap over his head and secured the strap so the guitar would remain hand leveled. The boy was hopping in circles, too happy to be still anymore.

“Stop apologizing and now, go, be excited elsewhere,” shooed the priest with false severity.

Héctor stopped on his tracks and looked at the man, puzzled.

“But, I didn’t finish cleaning…”

Looking around the stone floor still full of dirt and dust, there was no way Sister Esperanza would accept it as clean. The priest took the broom.

“You’ve done enough. You’re free until the mass,” declared the Padre. He gestured him towards the door. “Go, before I change my mind.”

At that moment, Héctor’s smile shone brighter than the morning sun. He thanked the man again, slid the guitar to his back and dashed towards the exit.

Going north, past the city limits, he ran towards the hills that formed a semicircle around Santa Cecilia, not even glancing to the now inhabited haunted hacienda. Even with the weight of his gift, it took him his usual 10 minutes to zigzag his way to the riverbank.

He slowed down when he saw the big tree that bowed to the river. There laid his secret hideout, the place where he could play to his heart’s content, forgetting the worries of a restless world. The silence of nature’s sounds was broken when a stone splashed in the river, followed by a groan. The boy paused. Was someone in his spot? It couldn’t be Ernesto, since Sunday was the only day he could wake up after the sun. Besides the two of them, no one knew of this secret place. He grabbed tightly the shoulder strap. He wouldn’t put the guitar in danger. If there was an intruder, he’d flee. He hid behind a tree nearby and stretched his neck a bit to look. A second stone was thrown in the river, but this time, Héctor could see who the culprit was. It was a young girl with a thick braid and a bright yellow dress. The boy couldn’t see her face, but he could easily guess that she was angry.

“Arg, them and their stupid excuses!” the girl snapped, kicking this time a rock to externalize the anger she felt. She turned around, ready to kick something else, giving Héctor a chance to see her more properly.

“Oh, la Llorona!” he exclaimed, unable to restrain himself from expressing his surprise.

The girl turned abruptly, as if she was disconcerted to have been found in a place where she thought she’d have peace. She frowned when their eyes met. Her stance grew defensive, as if he were a threat. A month ago, he had thought she was a murderous ghost and had even started to doubt her existence altogether. As it had been weeks and she had yet to make an apparition in the village, the arrival of new residents in the Flores residence had been Santa Cecilia’s talk all those weeks. The talk being based solely on gossips it enforced the aura of mystery the hacienda always had.

Now, she just looked like a normal girl. She had tanned skin like him, although not quite as dark. She also had normal-looking hazelnut eyes, not the dark red eyes ghosts were believed to have. The last proof of her humanity was that the sun didn’t burn her. The only thing he thought of saying was, “So, it’s true. You’re not a ghost, after all.”

When he moved away from his hiding place, a spark of recognition flashed in the girl’s eyes before she frowned.

“Ay, no. Just what I didn’t need… _El ladrón_ again,” she groaned. Then, the girl went back to her previous attitude, defiance. She put her hands on her hips, disapproving. “What did you steal this time? A guitar? Quite audacious.”

“No, it was given to me by Padre Corona. So again-” Héctor straightened his back and crossed his arms to look self-assured – “I’m not a thief.”

“Yes, yes,” the girl said, waving to send him off. “Now go, I’m not in the mood for your nonsense.”

He took a step forward and said, “Yeah, not happening because, well, this time, I’m not the intruder, you are.”

She rose an eyebrow, in disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t apologize, you couldn’t have known, but this is my secret hideout,” he explained, extending his arms, presenting the surroundings as his own.

“Hideout?” the girl asked, dubious. She let out a heavy sigh and then pinched her nose’s bridge. “You know what, I’m not even interested. Go away.”

It was now Héctor that was frowning. Why was this girl so obstinate to send him away? Sure, it wasn’t anyone’s house and she was there first, but he had been coming to this part of the mountain for many years now and grew to feel like it was one of his safe spaces. He didn’t have a lot, but he prided himself of having the freedom to go wherever he wanted in this area. If one of them had to go, it wasn’t him.

“Hum, no. This is my spot. So, you go.” He mimicked her stance and crossed once again his arms to prove the seriousness of his statement.

The girl threw her arms in the air and paced near the big tree.

“I can’t believe this. Arg, you boys are so annoying!” she yelled. She walked towards him and he couldn’t help but stepping back. “You think you have every right! Well, guess what? Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean you can send me away. Unlike my house, this place belongs to no one. So, don’t tell me what to do.”

The boy didn’t quite get half of her ramblings about being a girl and the likes, but he took her last sentence as an opportunity to prove his point.

“No, it’s mine. Look-” He got around her and walked to the tree to point under the lowest branch where “Héctor” was written in a shaky manner. –“I wrote my name here and I peed over there.” He pointed next to where she was standing.

“Yuk, that’s disgusting!” she cried out, as she jumped away. “You should have started by saying that!”

“I don’t see what’s the big deal,” Héctor said, puzzled by her disproportionate reaction.

“Don’t pee outside, you barbarian,” she scolded him like a teacher. She huffed and turned her chin disdainfully. “You know what, you convinced me. I’m leaving.”

She grabbed a pan of her skirt and walked away. Héctor then realized that despite the brightness of her dress, he never saw the brightness of her smile. It was not normal for people, especially a kid, not to smile. Something was probably wrong. Maybe, he could help.

“What’s wrong?” The question made her stop on her tracks. She clenched her fists and turned around to face him again.

“I’m obviously angry! I’m so tired to hear that stupid excuse over and over again.”

“What excuse?”

She looked sideway, as if she was uneasy to speak her mind. She wrinkled her nose.

“That I can’t do something because I’m a girl.”

“Who told you that?”

“You, idiota!” the girl declared, annoyed.

“Nooo.,” denied Héctor, abashed. “I never said that! I just said it’s my hideout. Only musicians can be there. It’s nothing again you or girls.”

“Just because you have a guitar doesn’t make you a musician,” she pointed out, slightly smug.

“I can play really good,” Héctor affirmed, now annoyed that she would question his skills. What did she know? She was no musician.

“Yeah, sure and the sky is red,” the girl responded, clearly doubting him. Either that or she didn’t know her colors. Maybe she wasn’t so normal, after all.

As he was thinking about what to say to defend his music, he heard a sound different than the usual melody of nature. A rapid rhythm that was growing louder. It sounded like a gallop.

“Llorona,” Héctor said, alerted.

“Stop calling me that. My name is Imelda.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Héctor. Now, _calláte_ and get down.”

“What did you just tell me?!” Imelda gasped, insulted.

“Shut up and hide!” he whispered forcefully. He pulled her, leading her on the other side of the tree. He moved a spiky bush, revealing a hollow large enough for two kids to hide. Imelda turned slightly her head towards the noise, which explained why she complied and stepped into the cavity without complain. Héctor grabbed the sand-color blanket that laid in the improvised shelter and threw it on them. Although he loved the mountains for their scenery and tranquility, he was aware of the dangers. They weren’t nearly as imposing as the Sierra Gorda, but they still remained remoted from villages. The isolation it provided was the perfect sanctuary for criminals. Knowing that didn’t hold him back from his secret place, because it was also perfect for kid musicians. Prudence was necessary, but it was worth.

Héctor and Ernesto turned the cavity of the mighty tree that faced the river into an earthy den, bringing blankets and slingshots if they ever ran into trouble. They had to protect this haven of peace, where they could play to their hearts’ content. Though, right now, his heart was pounding like crazy, like it wanted to erupt from his ribcage. A deeper fear took root in his stomach, twisting his guts. Even if he had dread to see a ghost, some men were scarier than monsters. Men like the one that gave Padre Corona his scar… He shook his head slightly to clear his head from this horrible memory.

Héctor clenched the blanket to secure the illusive sense of security and glanced towards Imelda. Her intense stare was so focused that he wouldn’t be surprised that she burned the branches to see through. He couldn’t tell if she was scared or not. Oddly, it reassured him. They were together in this. Nothing bad could happen.

Three horsemen arrived into view. Heavy guns hung on their back and on the two belts overlapping as an imposing X over their chest was stored the ammunition of these deadly weapons. In the shadow of their sombreros, they looked like thieves…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I finally managed to write a shorter chapter :') I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for reading and for your reviews! It makes me happy to talk with other Coco fans:3
> 
> Also, don't hesitate to PM me if you see an error that annoys you, I'll correct it right away~ Although I read mostly in English, writing it is another game since it's not my first language^^
> 
> Stay tune and until then, take care!


	4. Does trouble follow you?

Imelda didn’t even mind the dirt that was smudging her summer dress. Adrenaline was rushing through her veins and her heartbeat filled her ears, as she looked through the branches that camouflaged the hole in which they were hiding. The peaceful riverside was disrupted on their right. When Imelda saw the three men approaching on their right, she silently thanked the rude boy for his quick reaction. The light made a reflection run on their guns’ barrel, underlined what type of men they were. The dangerous kind.

There were three of them. The first one, the oldest, was all mustache and beard with only his eyes and nose peering from all the facial hair. Another was too big for his shirt which threatened to rip at any moment. The last one was all muscles and his angular face must never have seen the curve of a smile on his lips. However, the one thing they shared was their menacing dark eyes.

The three caballeros jumped off their mount, lifting a small dust cloud. By the reins, they guided their horses towards the rivers. The men also took the opportunity to quench their thirst.

With a loud sigh of satisfaction, the heavily bearded man asked with a thick northern accent, “Think the others are already in the capital?”

“Yeah, probably. Even though the elections are still in a few weeks, Diaz likes to have his people near,” his angular-featured comrade said. “We have to show our support to Madero.”

Those names sounded familiar to the girl. Eavesdropping her father and his entourage’s conversations, she was often left with talks about politics and other adult stuff that she didn’t quite understand. Her classes didn’t include much of history since it was a topic “reserved” to boys. Still with what little knowledge she had, she knew who Diaz was. He was the current president of México and the other man was probably another politician. Imelda didn’t know that the elections were soon, but it could explain what happened this morning with her father and his abrupt departure.

“Yeah, in case this _pinche_ Diaz still thinks he has a shot to be re-elected president, we gotta remind him that times are changing,” the largest man said.

Before she could wonder what he meant by that, she felt the boy move. She glanced towards him and she saw that the fool was bending his body sideway to scratch his calf.

In the movement, Héctor hit his guitar against the wood above their heads. They both tensed and held their breath. Fortunately for them, the horse gave a small kick at the same time. She glared at the boy who made an apologetically smile. The noise seemed to have momentarily caught the attention of the tallest, but his friend distracted him with a question.

“Yeah, speaking of which! Isn’t one of our suppliers in the area?” asked the bearded caballero, patting the cannon of his rifle.

“Maybe, but except Pancho, nobody knows his real name,” confessed the angular man, expecting his saddle. He tightened a strap with more firmness than needed. “He goes by the alias of the Arm Peddlers.”

“Doesn’t clear up any confusion,” groaned his interlocutor, slicking his beard. “But how are we supposed to contact him?”

“Pancho does. Not us,” said his muscular friend, his voice letting no place for further discussion.

The large man didn’t take the hint and loudly said, “He better gets us some upgrades.” He shook the ammunition belts hanging from his chest, the bullets slightly clatter against each other. “‘cos those rusty sticks won’t get us far if things…turn south.”

Even though some of their exchange sounded cryptic, his comment made it clear for Imelda that they were talking about weapons. Sadly, for the fat man, his joke fell flat. From the short interaction, it was easy to see that the muscular caballero was the leader of their trio and that his patience was wearing thin.

“Let’s keep moving,” the leader said, his aura growing more intimidating by the minute. “We wouldn’t want some _villagers_ to see us and spread rumors.”

His whole demeanor made Imelda realize just how wise it had been to hide from those men. She continued to fix them, as the two others nodded and, following their comrade’s example, mounted their horses. With a reign’s snap, the trio raced south. It wasn’t before the gallop faded in the distance that Imelda dared breathing more freely. The boy was quicker to move out of their hiding place. He looked in the direction of where the caballeros had gone and with a smile, he stretched his thin body, like a smug cat. 

“Ouf! Bandits sure are scary!” Héctor exclaimed, letting out a deep, relieved sign. Imelda didn’t share his relief.

“We almost got caught because you had to scratch an itch. Seriously? We could have been in trouble,” she said, her hands on her hips, a habit she gained from reprimanding recklessness from Felipe and Oscar.

He shrugged, his eyes reflecting a semblance of apology, but his smile was mischievous once again, the girl noticing for the first time he was missing some teeth. He then said, “At least, I didn’t sneeze.”

He diverted his attention back to his guitar. He took it off his back and examine it closely, with the intensity of a painting collector verifying the authenticity of his new addition, and with the reverence of man looking at his raison d’être, probably to see if the incident had left scratch on his instrument.

His optimism let her speechless. He wasn’t wrong, but, _god_ , he was missing the whole point. Although, he had the intelligence to hide from the riders, sensing the danger. He did have some common sense; she could at least give him that.

Their departure just let her the luxury of wondering about those men; they were certainly no bandits. The men didn’t plan a robbery or other petty crimes. No, their discussion was centered over a subject that seemed far more complex. One like her father kept mentioning with his friends over a glass of tequila when she could successfully eavesdrop through the half-opened door of the boudoir. Something was happening in México City and she just hoped it wouldn’t involve her father…

The thought brought back the memory of the morning.

She could still accept the fact that his duties called him so soon to the capital, but what she couldn’t tolerate was the mocking smiles of his so-called friends, dripping with condescendence, when she asked him to take her with him. She was slapped by the same refrain as always: _no es un lugar para niñas_. No place for grils…Then, there was very few places where girls could exist without being bothered. People had already decided that without her even trying. Still, she wanted to try things on her own. Like pushing her study of mathematics or going on a business trip with her father. She never complained about embroidery, she liked the practical skills it required. She liked dancing and painting classes, but she wanted to learn about a lot of different things too. Like her father.

When she left out of frustration, the girl went to her room in hope to calm herself down. She simply needed to be given five minutes to process another forsaken separation from her parents. Her face and demeanor couldn’t reflect her emotions. No lady should wear her heart on her sleeves. Even disappointed by the fact that her father didn’t take her side over his friends’, she still couldn’t disappoint him with impoliteness.

Not one minute into processing to calm herself through screaming into her pillow, Joséphina opened the door without knocking, asking her to eat breakfast before the service. She wished her bedroom would be a haven of peace where she could live her emotions at least. But, no. She wasn’t even allowed that and that’s when she saw red. Obedient, polite, and gentle. Sure, she could do that, be that. All she asked was for some time to live her anger, but it seemed like too much to ask.

Without a word, she got past the governess and ran away. The last thing she had heard was Yalitza calling her name. Imelda felt a sting of guilt, knowing that her escapade would be blamed on the indigenous nanny, the one adult that would listen without judging or lecturing. But, the girl needed space. 

Running away from her “daughterly duties” was freeing. For the day, Imelda didn’t feel the need nor the want to behaved. _If it couldn’t even bring her parents to stay, why bother?_

Or, maybe, that was the problem. Maybe, her small moments of revolt were the cause of their constant traveling. Surely, if she put more effort into her attitude, her father would want to stay home more often with her and the twins. She had run away on an impulse, but she will tame that bubbling emotion that kept surfacing too often. _It wasn’t proper for a young lady_ , she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. _Make them proud and they’ll make you happy_.

When Héctor cleared his throat, Imelda came back to the present and finally noticed that he was extending his hand to help her get out of the cavity. She hadn’t noticed she was still half-sitting in the cavity. She decided to ignore it, first because she was embarrassed to have been caught up lost in her thoughts, and second because she was still displeased that he practically shoved her in the dirt. Though, it was to help her getting unnoticed by dangerous people.

She dusted her dress, examining the damage. There was no way Joséphina wasn’t going to notice such a mess.

“Trouble seems to be a talent of yours,” Imelda said, somewhat more reproachful that she intended.

“Yeah, I get that often,” Héctor admitted sheepish. “But, this time, it was purely bad luck!” He held his hands up as to say he was in no way guilty. “You’re not still mad, are you?”

“Yes. Well, no. Not against you,” she confessed. “You actually…did well. Hiding us, I mean.”

She surprised herself smiling to the boy. He responded with an even broader smile. She took a better look. He was shorter than her, by half a head, and was quite scrawny like he wasn’t properly eating. Consequently, it made him look younger, but judging by his missing teeth, he must be around her age. His age was a mystery she would find out another time, but his adult teeth were already growing, and the duality gave him a permanent air of mischief. His black wild hair was a bit longer than what other boys around their age had, but still his ears were sticking out. An innocence emanated from his big brown eyes.

“I’m happy I could help you. And that you’re not mad because of your dress. Usually, I would get smacked across the face for that.”

“The idea crossed my mind,” she smiled slyly. “I’ll forgive you this time. See it as my repayment for your help at the hacienda. We’re even.” She referred to when he howled weirdly, attempting to sound like a coyote, so she could go back home, unnoticed.

The boy chuckled and a cheeky smile which carved a single dimple on his left cheek. A comfortable silence followed. He wasn’t so bad, Imelda decided. Well, for a boy.

“Pfff, as if! I did get in trouble when I came back from your house,” he giggled. He crossed his arms, giving the impression he was now the one that reprimand her, as he retold his punishment. “Sister Esperanza made me clean the whole church. Can you imagine that?! The church-” He then paused, abruptly, thinking hard about something. His frown loosened up and his eyebrows shot up behind his messy hair. “THE SERVICE! I totally forgot about the service!”

He hit lightly his forehead with his hand, in disbelief. Her heart sank when she remembered that she, too, needed to be there. Bells rang in the distance and their echo reached them. Realization hit them both at the same time.

“Ay, Sister Esperanza is going to kill me,” Héctor added, panic in his eyes.

Imelda felt some panic too, but for a different reason. Would her father be at the service or would he already have left? They both started running towards the village.

“Come on, faster!” he unnecessarily hurried her.

“I’ll show you fast,” she muttered, speeding up, feeling for the first time in a long time the wind blowing against her face and through her braided hair with the carelessness of childhood.

After having crossed the village, they arrived breathless to the church. Unfortunately, the doors were closed.

“Great,” Imelda groaned. “Now, we really missed the service. Just. _Great_.” She turned to fix the boy.

“Why are you looking at me like that? It’s not like it’s my fault,” Héctor said, making a face.

“It certainly isn’t mine.”

“Why are you angry again so quickly? He asked, exasperated. “I showed you my secret hiding place. I don’t show it to anyone, but we didn’t really have a choice this time.” He frowned, looking at a lock of hair that was in front of his eyes. He blew upward. He seemed to calm. “Anyway. Now, you’ll always know where to go if you’re in danger.”

“I’m certainly not going back there,” Imelda huffed, remembering his admission that he peed near the tree.

A wooden creak screeched their ears, alerting them that the service was over. His eyes widened and he turned around. But before he could take a first step, a furious voice called him out.

“Héctor!”

The boy cringed and turned towards the church once more. “Aah…Sister Esperanza.” Fidgeting, he scratched the back of his head, looking away as if an excuse would miraculously appear to him. “Well, you see… I was just… You know…”

Imelda’s eyes traveled between the stern nun and the boy. Despite her round face and her puffy cheeks, her scorn, accentuated by thick eyebrows and wrinkles imprinted through years of bitterness, made her look scary. All playfulness had left the boy. His anxious demeanor made him look even smaller in face of the intimidating woman. She wasn’t sure why she was the one that punished him instead of his mother, but she only knew that he was already in trouble, because he helped her at the hacienda. It seemed only fair that she would repay the favor.

“Hola, Sister,” Imelda said, curtseying with elegance despite the state of her dress. “I haven’t had the chance yet to introduce myself. I’m Imelda Carmén Flores Rivera, the daughter of Antonio Flores y Rojas.”

Sister Esperanza’s face passed through various stages from being insulted for being interrupted to annoyed to surprised. However, Imelda knew she had captured all the nun’s attention at the mention of her father. He was well-known and he was a patron of Santa Cecilia. Her daughter was expected to receive respect in his name. The girl used it now to her advantage.

With the formal language she was expected to display at home and in society and her posed tone, she continued to plead their case, “I do apologize for our tardiness. You see, I lost my cat and Héctor, here, offered his help.” She looked at her feet, hoping the sister would see it as remorse and then would be merciful on them. “He’s not to blame.”

She side-eyed him and saw his mouth hang low and his eyes sparkle. “Yes! Exactly!” he said a bit too forcefully. “We were still looking for the cat. Sorry. I cleaned the church though.”

She shut up Héctor with her scold, her eyes still looking daggers at him. The nun turned toward Imelda with a soften demeanor.

“ _Un gusto conocerte, cariña_. Yes, nice to meet you. Don’t worry about it. It is unfortunate that you missed the service. Your nanny was looking for you.” give your father our thanks for everything.”

“Ah, yes. It was inconsiderate to go on my own. I will go back home, then. Thank you for telling me.”

“Such a good girl,” she nodded in approbation. “Don’t hesitate to tell us if we can help you with anything.” She glared once more at Héctor who feign to not see it. “Also, you’d be a love to give your father our thanks once again for his generous gift to the convent and the school.”

“Of course, I will,” she said with a forced smile. “I’ll tell him when he comes back from México City.”

“Good girl,” she repeated, pleased. “I hope I’ll see you next Sunday.”

“You will, sister. Have a good afternoon.”

The nun then left the two kids to follow the group of nuns that led kids away from the church. Héctor took a step to follow but halted. He turned to Imelda and asked, “Do you really have a cat?”

“I wish,” she said, with a studied casualness, pushing aside a lock of hair that came undone from her long braid.

“Thanks,” he beamed, revealing his gap-toothed smile. “You’re cool.” The way that he said it was like he offered her the best compliment of the world. She rolled her eyes, amused.

If she let herself be honest, she would admit that she had the most fun in a long time. Unfortunately, Imelda rarely allow herself honesty as it too often associated itself with improperness.

“And you are trouble,” Imelda said. “So, stay away as much as possible.” She punctuated her order by turning haughtily her head away from him.

“I can make no promise,” he said, his eternal smile illuminating his face. He waved before running after the other kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Imelda is finally warming up to Héctor!:3
> 
> I'm starting to include some element of the Mexican Revolution, bcs it will be relevant to the rest of the plot (as well as the setting)! I didn't go too much into details, really just the surface (didn't want to info-dump), but if you ever spot an inaccuracy, please tell me~ Even though, I'm Mexican, I don't live in Mexico, so I learn history through books, but I'm still lacking in a lot :')
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Stay tune and until then, take care~
> 
> Glossary:
> 
> pinche: a swear word, equivalent of "fucking" (to emphasis smtg)
> 
> Un gusto conocerte: it is a pleasure to meet you/nice to meet you
> 
> cariña: endearment, pet name


	5. All It Took Was One Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary: 
> 
> Papel picado: colorful pecked paper (like in the intro of the movie) 
> 
> Calaveras: skull (edible skull made of sugar or decorative made of clay)
> 
> Cempasúchil: orange flowers (that symbolize the impermanence of life)
> 
> Pantéon: cemetery 
> 
> Campesinos: larborer (usually on a farm), villager
> 
> Hacendados: landowner

Héctor slalomed through the bustling Mariachi Plaza, his arms full of _papel picado_. He handed them over to a man on a ladder that hung them across the plaza. The orange of the sunset spread warmth on the colourful town. Everybody kept busy with last-minute preparations for _Día de los Muertos_.

The air was filled with the sugary smell of pan de los Muertos and the spicy sweetness of pollo con mole. On his way back to help someone else that required his help, he stopped on his track near the stand of _Señora_ Morela. Her tamales always made his mouth water. Often, the merchants forming their improvised mercado would offer the orphan one of their specialities in exchange for a service. He was known around for his kind and benevolent nature. The old lady caught him eyeing the food she was stashing and with a smile she offered him one of her tamales. He thanked her profusely, feeling happy to have been given a gift even though it was not even his birthday yet. Although, it was not so surprising since he always took time to talk with her.

After having run most of the day, the boy was glad to finally sit down with a warm meal. He peeled off the palmer leaf and took a bite, the taste of rice and meat melting on his tongue. Nodding in contentment, he looked around the plaza once more, finally enjoying the festive atmosphere. The streetlamps were already lit, casting a warm light on the plaza. The activities revolved around the pavilion, already decorated with _calaveras_ and _cempasúchil_ flowers. Being the plaza’s center, it would also be where the main event would take place. The Talent Show. For the umpteenth time, he glanced with envy the placarded poster on the balustrade: _Talent Show, musicians, it is your moment to shine_.

Although there was always music filling the air in Mariachi Plaza, the contest remained the highlight of the day. With the organization surrounding it, it gave a seriousness mere serenades didn’t have. Each musician practiced earnestly their piece to show their sweet, sweet skills, honouring at the same time the beauty of music and the memory of the deceased. However, what most people had eyes on was the prized money the winner would gain. For the boy, what he loved best of this event was the feeling of witnessing a real concert.

One of his dearest dream was to participate. He would even dream it at night sometimes. Being on stage and strumming his guitar, sharing songs and melodies of love and happiness. Reality was different. The contest was unfortunately reserved for people over 12 years old and older. The rule always struck as unfair to the boy. Being only 9 years old, he would have to wait a whole three years. Well, his tenth birthday was only in two months, but one year remained an insufferably long time to wait for a kid, full of dreams.

Still, the prospect of a concert was enough to brush off his mild disappointment. Even without being in it, the show still felt magic to him. His eyes caught a movement in the forming crowd.

Ernesto arrived, running. He was dressed in white ironed shirt under his dark vest and beige cotton trousers, his hair combed back, having been required to wear a clean getup for the celebration by his mother. He had loosened the ribbon that maintain his collar straight to breathe more freely. Héctor never had a clean outfit, reserved for special occasion. The only distinctive thing he had was a red handkerchief, given by Padre Corona, that he tied around his neck, giving him the impression he had a bowtie. He had two set of clothing he alternated between, but both shirts initially white were now a weird pale brownish colour. Maybe, he would get a new set for Christmas. The convent always had a gift for each orphan with what was left of the money they received from charity. Even though, Héctor found Ernesto lucky to have a family. The boy didn’t expect Nesto for another hour.

“Weren’t you at the _Panteón_ , visiting your ancestors?” Héctor asked.

Ernesto wrinkled his nose as if his friend had suggested something grotesque. “No way. It’s so dull. And worst, my mom goes all gloomy and goes on and on about…” The older boy shivered. He shrugged, brushing off what he was about to say. “Anyway, that’s not important. Did you hear the news?”

Héctor furrowed his eyebrows, confused. He didn’t recall hearing some rumor or announcement. “Heard what?” Looking at Ernesto’s insulted face and his serious tone, he imagined the worst. “Don’t tell me they’re thinking of cancelling the show?!”

His friend sat next to him, radiating discontentment. “Worse. They’re allowing the daughter of our local fat cat to participate.”

Héctor’s first thought was of Adelita, the mayor’s daughter, but then he crossed off the idea since she was no musician nor singer. His friend would have named her, which meant the other rich girl of the village, Imelda. For a month now, he hadn’t talked to her; he simply had glimpses of her at the service. However, he was not deaf. He heard the town’s gossip of which she was the daughter of Santa Cecilia’s patron, a rich merchant that moved here from the capital. Apparently, he had lots of money and contributed too many town’s projects, like constructing a train station for the town. He hadn’t seen the man, but everyone seemed quite impressed with him.

He failed to see the problem with his daughter, participating in the show. He waited for his friend to elaborate and realizing he wouldn’t, Héctor asked, “And?”

“Well, she’s just 10,” Ernesto said, like the fact was the most evident thing in the world.

Héctor was used to overlook Nesto’s cynicism and so, he got excited. “Doesn’t that mean that we can, too?”

“No. The rule still stands,” his friend said, bitter. “Except for her.”

“Uh? Why?”

“’Cos her father is rich. He’s the one giving the money this year for the prize. He paid for everything.” He clenched his fists. “So, everyone is acting like bootlickers. To gain his favours.”

The young boy’s jaw dropped. “Wha-” He jumped on his feet and threw his hands in the air. Not talking to anyone in particular, he said, “That’s so unfair.”

“Duh,” the older boy snorted. “That’s what I’m saying.”

Héctor frowned. He didn’t mind that Imelda could participate, but why not other kids too? _Money really bought a lot of things_ , he thought. _Even rules_. However, the boy knew his advantage, a secret weapon that money couldn’t buy: his imagination.

“Well, we’re getting in the show,” declared Héctor, nodding with confidence, a quality that didn’t seem to fit in such a skinny body.

“Héctor,” signed Nesto. “Didn’t you hear me properly with those big ears of yours?”

“Yes,” he grinned. “But, I don’t care because I have a plan!” His sentence hung in the air the promise for either a splendid fiasco or a brilliant idea. Nesto’s smile showed that either way it was sure to be entertaining.

***************

“I’m so gonna get killed for this,” Ernesto groaned, inspecting his now dirtied outfit by marks of charcoal.

Héctor was still applying charcoal on his face. Looking through the window of the cantina, his reflection showed him he missed some skin on his left cheek. He drew over the patch of skin, completing a perfect beard in his opinion. 

Ernesto had simply opted for a large mustache, but still managed to make a mess. Héctor reassured him, telling him they could blame the weird mustache on his lack of talent in shaving. It was plausible; they were young men after all, and it surely took some years to master the art of shaving.

Héctor was satisfied with the results. All there was left to make them real men was sombreros de charros. They wouldn’t look like adults by wearing their usual tiny straw hats that most boys had. No, they needed those wide-brimmed hats with the embroidery designs all charros and mariachi wore. It was such a recognizable trait that the hat almost became a trademark for musicians. Unlike the sombreros the campesinos, the villagers, wore, these hats had a distinctive appeal to them.

Ignoring the complain of his friend, Héctor rubbed his hands with a conspiring demeanor, “Alright, too late to back up now. Let’s do the “Sorry, Sir” thrill to get our sombreros.”

The “Sorry, Sir” thrill required two people, the first being the runner and the second one being the catcher. The runner would dash through a crowd towards the target, one holding a snack. When close enough, the runner would “inadvertently” hit the target, making them drop their food. Displeased, the target would bend down to pick it up. That’s when the catcher would come into play. While crouched, the catcher grabs the hat the target was wearing and disappears in the crowd before the target can realize what happened.

Ernesto rolled his eyes, finding the seriousness of his friend silly. Sure, they weren’t soldiers for their country, but being boys who were about to “borrow without asking” some hats was a heist in itself.

“Shouldn’t we worry more about getting me a guitar?”

“Actually, taking a guitar is too hard,” Héctor admitted. He shook his head, resigned. “Look, we have mine. With all the choir practice you have, you should just concentrate on singing. I’ll play.”

Ernesto opened his mouth to protest, but the boy beat him to it. “With all the choir practice you have, you should just concentrate on singing. We’d have a better chance of winning.”

The preteen grumbled before saying complying, “Fine. I’ll sing, but I choose the song.”

“That’s fair,” Héctor agreed.

The two boys missed out on some of the show, but it was a sacrifice they were willing to make. The whole operation was swiftly done in less than half an hour. The song was even chosen, una cancion ranchera, one they were confident they could pull off as good as any other contestant.

They approached the pavilion, walking with the assurance of peacocks, sure it made them look manlier. The one taking the inscriptions was _Señorita_ Eugenia, a beauty of the town, who often helped with the few cultural events that happened in Santa Cecilia. She was nice, but being also a teacher for the younger kids, she was adamant about respecting rules.

They both agreed that Héctor would do the talking in order not to be caught, as Ernesto lacked the wit to make their lie believable, having difficulty to improvise. He was better when things were planned and meticulously scripted to the detail. On the other hand, Héctor had a vivid imagination and always managed to find creative way to face problems. His mind once set on a goal, his thrive is undying. It was certainly not a teacher, as pretty as she was, that would stop him.

“Hola, _señorita_ ,” Héctor greeted her with his child’s voice trying to reach three octaves lower. “We are new in town and would like to sign up for the contest.”

He looked up a bit. There was a strange mix of emotions, her furrowed eyebrows made her look skeptical, but the repressed smile on her lips seemed to convey amusement. Héctor understood he needed to step up his game. He rubbed his beard, with a nonchalance he mimicked from men he saw at the cantina when talking about girls. Concentrated on his act, he failed to notice that some of his “beard” was smudged in his hand. The young woman hid a chuckle behind her hand.

“Oh, of course,” _Señorita_ Eugenia said. “Do I sign you under the name of Héctor and Ernesto?”

“Yes, please,” he nodded, sticking out his chest. He was so caught up in his role, his lie he was so sure that it was flawless, making him miss the sarcasm in her voice. “The song we will play is “ _El almanecer del amor_.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, checking intently her list. “Here it is written that you two will play the famous “We’re not 12 years old yet.””

Héctor was about to correct her when he finally caught on. “Oh.”

He blinked, speechless. The silence grew awkward as Héctor simply stared back at the young woman. Behind him, Ernesto kicked his calves, bringing him back to reality. Héctor winced, but quickly straightened. He cleared his throat, prepared to speak in low tones to re-enter his grown-man role.

“ _Señorita_ , this is no way to talk to your elders,” he tried to lecture her, which from an outside perspective was quite laughable, since he only reached her shoulder.

Eugenia sighed, disheartened. “Alright, Héctor, enough with this farce. You know the age rule. And Ernesto-” She moved to look at the older boy which gaze he averted, trying to play it cool. “-one more year and you’ll be able to sign up. This year, just enjoy the show without causing problems, okay?”

Héctor held his hands up. “Alright, you saw through our disguise. Very perceptive! But, um, for the effort, will you let us play?” He offered her his toothiest smile, hoping to charm his way in.

Her now stern face showed her patience was wearing thin. She simply shook her head. Ernesto decided then to intervene, probably having lost faith in Héctor’s reliability.

“ _Señorita_ , then if the rule is still there why can the girl play?” he asked. “Why can’t we too?”

Eugenia pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn’t even offer an explanation and replied, “Do you want me to ask Sister Esperanza to explain to you why?”

Héctor gulped, recognizing too well the threat underneath the question. He grabbed his friend by the elbow, apologized for causing problem and asked the woman as a favour to not mention the incident to the Sister before running away. Ernesto let himself being pulled for a while, but then tucked his arm away.

“You always cower when they mention Sister Esperanza,” the older boy reproached him.

“Well, yeah! I was just freed from my extra chores; I’m not adding new ones now!”

“What are we supposed to do now? The show is about to start,” he complained.

The air was electric with anticipation. The plaza was now packed with families and young people. Most of them had finished to pay their respects to their ancestors and, as it was still a bit too early to head back for the celebratory meal, they expected to enjoy a good show. The mayor got to the center of the pavilion, alongside a man and a woman, both wearing elegant outfit like the boys had never seen before, were warmly welcomed by the crowd. When the mayor managed to get everyone’s attention and presented them as _Señor y Señora_ Flores y Roja, Imelda’s parents from what Héctor gathered. Anyway, most people were already well aware who they were. Rumors did travel fast in small towns. Besides, they had paraded around town with their refined outfits (even when it wasn’t Sunday to Héctor’s puzzlement), greeting people and getting acquainted with both the _campesinos_ and the other _hacendados_.

They had hired many men to work in their fields to clear the neglected land in prevision to the next spring. The conditions were still tough and the pay wasn’t high, but Señor Flores y Roja donated money to some of the town’s institutions, gaining considerable popularity, which was unusual in these times where the town folks grew visibly more wary of the gap between themselves and the landowners. Even their children were greeted with reverence as if it would help them gain favours from the new patrons. No one wanted to displease them, so they would even allow this new family to disregard some rules. Like the age-limit rule in the Talent Show.

“Thank you, good people of Santa Cecilia!” the tall gentleman waved. “It is always a pleasure to take part on festivities, especially in a hometown I missed dearly in my years away in the United States and in the capital. I’d like to thank you all for your kind gifts and your attention to the well-being of my family and myself...”

Ernesto’s annoyance had reached its limit. There was no time to waste listening to some speech while their performance was at stake. “Héctor! We can’t let her take away our chance.”

The word rang in the boy’s head. His messy thoughts cleared out and so did his stress. The answer was so simple.

“Exactly!” Héctor exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “We have to seize our moment!”

Ernesto frowned, not understanding. Héctor motioned his friend to come nearer and pointed the stage. “Let’s stay near the pavilion and get on stage when the moment presents itself.”

“Aaaah,” Nesto nodded in understanding. He then smirked. “Seize your moment… I like the ring of that. Sounds good.”

“And you know what sounds better? Our music! Let’s go!”

Eagerly, they made their way in the crowd, going back from where they ran away minutes ago. This time, it wasn’t about playing clever, but sneaky. With a quick glance, they both knew what they had to do. They were going to take a go for it, after her performance. One way or the other. In those times, when one’s dream was at stake, the young mind would not so much as consider the potential consequences. It was a problem for later. The boys had reached the stone base of the pavilion, relying on the growing obscurity to provide them some camouflage. The angle between the stairs and one of the pavilion’s octagonal form provided the perfect hiding spot until their moment.

_Señor_ Flores y Roja was at the end of his speech. “To inaugurate this Talent Show, the mayor suggested that my daughter, Imelda, does an honorary performance. She is gifted in the piano, but tonight, she will sing for you. _¡Damas y caballeros, feliz Día de los Muertos!_ ” With a theatrical gesture, he let the stage to his daughter. 

A girl climbed the steps and merged from the shadows. Héctor immediately recognized Imelda, her straight face, and her straighter posture, lacking the bold energy she had at each of their previous encounters.

She did not notice him. She held her head high and looked straight ahead, as if she was going into battle. In a purple dress, wrapped in a white shawl with traditional embroidery, she looked like a princess. Someone behind him gushed about her beauty. Even though Héctor hadn’t given much thought about it, he must admit that she liked cool. When she stood at the centre of the stage, the girl closed her eyes, maybe as a way to brush away the stress or to get herself ready.

Expecting musicians to follow her, the boy was confused when she cleared her throat, ready to sing. He highly doubted that any song would sound good without instrument to accompany the voice. The boy hold that thought as a universally acknowledged truth until Imelda sang that first note.

Suddenly, his world was solely focused on the sound of her voice. He never heard someone sing so beautifully before. Héctor couldn’t imagine that an angel would sing any better than the girl in the stage. And as the seconds passed, she gained confidence, so did her voice, filling the now-silent plaza with a song about the heartfelt story of a woman in search of her exiled lover. He knew it from the mariachi he listened to and had played it by mimicking them, but it was slightly different than the way she sang it now.

It somehow felt more real.

Her voice didn’t have the mockery the mariachi had when they sang about the lonely woman. He heard the yearning and the sorrow from her voice, as if she knew the woman’s feeling. Though, even with her young voice, she managed to convey the heartfelt melody with a troubling authenticity, leaving no doubt that her talent would outmatch any guitar or violin that would have accompany her. And yet…

Héctor never wanted to play for someone more than now.

And so, before he realized, he had taken advantage of the inattention and climbed the stairs, standing only a few meters from Imelda, still singing to her mesmerized audience. He took a deep breath as he focused on the rhythm on which she decided to sing and knew how to match her voice.

“Oi, kid…” someone protested behind him.

He barely felt a hand grazing his collar when he leaped onto the stage. He was next to her, strumming the strings as she sang once more the chorus. Her eyes widened when they met his. A frown followed quickly afterwards, probably from recognizing him, as his disguise surely threw her off at first. Her voice hardly wavered from the surprise of his unexpected arrival. She glared at him but didn’t stop singing. Héctor smiled, happy to have match her song. He revolved around her to put some distance between himself and the angry-looking adults on the steps. They didn’t dare intervened in fear of spoiling her performance.

He half-expected her to stop and to yell at him. She did seem like the type of person to get her blood boil easily. She simply looked at him with some defiance, now following his movement, going in circle as if they were two cowboys measuring the threat of their adversary. Lifting her chin, an enigmatic smile on her lips, she lengthened the notes, changing the cadence to slower further the song.

Héctor snorted when he realized she was trying to throw him off. She was challenging him. He grinned. As if he would be beaten when it came to music. Not in her wildest dreams could she manage to beat his musical ear. He could keep up with any challenge she threw his way. 

In the crowd now cheering, he heard Ernesto’s encouragements in the distance, but his attention was fixed on Imelda, all ears to her music. Her frown was gone, but her demeanor still radiated a daring aura. But an amused smile sometimes flashed on her lips, betraying her facade. Sure, maybe, she was taken aback, but not annoyed. For all Héctor could guess, he would even wager that she was having fun.

The time did this strange thing where it looked like it both had stopped and flew by at lightning speed, too engrossed in their musical game.

When she let the last note die and the chords echoed weakly, they were still looking at each other when applause erupted from all around them. Slightly panting, she tried to hide her fatigue by straightening her back. She took the hem of her skirt and did a curtsey. Héctor frowned and then realized she was thanking the public. He turned around and bowed stiffly. Some people were chanting encores and the boy couldn’t help but beam.

He glanced towards the girl and met her eyes. He smiled once more. She rolled her eyes not without a pleased look.

“HÉCTOR!”

The boy cringed. The voice was filled with underlying threats. From the venom that snarl had, it promised a monumental ass-whooping. Preparing his best apologetic smile, he spun towards the steps.

He didn’t fear the consequence. Not only did he have a blast playing with Imelda, but he finally saw a genuine smile illuminate her face. The first one.

Héctor regretted nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hope you enjoyed it! Until next time, take care~


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